In the Beginning: Vive Le King
by Simone Lyon
Summary: The first in a series showing how our heroes came to be at Stalag 13. This is Newkirk and LeBeau's story from when they were captured in 1940 at Dunkirk to when they were transferred to Stalag 13 after a daring escape attempt
1. Peter Newkirk

**Chapter One: Peter Newkirk**

May 17, 1940

The alarm rang throughout the base. Every man left what they were doing and scurried out to the airfield. There, several bombers were returning from their mission in France. A few of them were wavering dangerously as they came in for the landing, since they had been strafed so badly. The ground crew stormed around each plane as she landed.

Junior Technician Peter Newkirk (1) ran from one if the hangars with four other men dragging the water hose to a plane that had a fire in the tail and gun turret. He yelled for them to pull it harder, and then when they were close enough, he gave the signal for the water. The man left at the spigot turned the water on. As they watered down the plane, men jumped out of it. The first man who jumped out was screaming for a medic.

Sergeant Dales, who was in charge of the ground crew from Peter's hangar, yelled for Peter to go get the medical team. Peter handed the top of the hose to Dales, and then started running to where one medical team was already working on getting another airman out of another bomber. He grabbed one idle medic by the arm, and hollered over the roar of engines for him to come to the other plane. The medic called for another ambulance and they rushed back to the burning plane. Six should have come out healthy enough. Only five did, and two of them were bloody.

Peter ran to the pilot, who he now recognized to be Flying Officer Murray. Murray seemed to be for the most part okay, if not worn out and worried for his men.

"Where's the sixth man," Peter cried.

Murray wearily pointed to the tail of the plane, where the gun turret was still engulfed in flames. Peter sighed, knowing that that man was already dead. Peter patted Murray's shoulder, and then ran back to the hose.

It was Peter and his men's job to keep the planes well and the airfield clean. When planes came back from a mission, this was when they were most active. Frequently, this was how they started their job. They would need to clear wreckage before they could clean the planes. It was getting worse and worse for the men who flew the missions. The forces of Britain and France were being pushed back more every day, and their seemed to be less hope for keeping France from the Nazis.

Peter told the men on the hose to keep it at the gun turret. Another hose came, and he directed it there as well. Dales pulled him aside.

"There's a man in there," he asked.

"Yes, sir," said Peter. "Or was. The body won't be much to look at now, but I don't want to 'ave it reduced to ashes. 'E deserves better than that."

Dales nodded solemnly. "Keep it up. I'll go get another hose." He patted Peter's shoulder.

Peter turned back to his men to keep them going at the fire. He watched the men from the planes being led away, back to the buildings where the airmen were housed. But some left in ambulances, which would rush to the airfield's hospital or to a hospital off the base.

Peter was one of the few Cockneys on the base. Most of the men there came from higher and middle class families, or neighborhoods rather, that did not include East End. To be in the RAF was like being in higher class almost, because only officers flew. But the activity on the ground was just as important. Some men found it odd to have a Cockney amongst them, because it was a belief that all Cockneys were lowly educated and off the streets; not RAF material. Peter usually straightened anyone on the myth, arguing that he could have gone to school and studied well and moved on to better places if he had really wanted to. Things had just come up. Some officers who came from distinguished families thought it was a mistake altogether that anyone who had not completed secondary school (2) should not even be in the RAF. It was little known, but there was sometimes discrimination against, not just Cockneys, but of anyone that came from lower class homes. But really, it was not a problem at Sudbury Airfield. Peter got teased a few times, but he had been in the RAF a year and a half, and had now gained respect, especially since he was in charge of a team of men. The military had tamed his wild attitude some as well. He was regarded as a good man and now had quite a few buddies on the base, and some in the nearby towns. Most people knew he good pick their pockets clean and they wouldn't know the difference, but it was all play, and few had trouble with him.

It was not until an hour later that Dale's crew was able to pull the dead man from the wreckage. Peter and one of his men, Leading Aircraftman Whittle, pulled a horribly burned body from the gun turret, and laid it in a body bag. The body bag was placed on a stretcher, and another two men carried the stretcher away. Peter clutched the dog tags of the burned man. They were still warm to the touch.

Dales walked over to him.

"I need to make a report about the plane," said Dale. "I was looking it over, and I would say ten days at the most.

Peter looked back at the plane, noting all the damage he could. "I'd say seven. This is the only plane from our 'angar, sir. We'll be able to devote all o' our time to it."

Dale nodded. "I'll put down eight, in case we run into some trouble." He looked at the turret. "Shame. I wouldn't want to be stuck in there. You're a sitting duck for Jerry."

"That's when I don't mind bein' so low on the chain," said Peter. He turned to Whittle. "Get started on the tail first. That's where most o' the damage is. I need to take these to Squadron Leader Murray." He held up the dog tags.

Whittle nodded and began to get the men in order. Everyone knew their job, and got to it. Peter walked with Dales towards the airfield buildings.

"You sure you don't want me to do it," asked Dales.

Peter shook his head. "No. You know the routine, sir."

The routine was that the highest ranked man who pulled the dead out of the wreckage was the one who gave the dog tags to that man's commanding officer. Sometimes it was hard, especially if you knew the man. This applied to Peter. Sergeant Taylor Matthews and Peter had enlisted at the same time, gone through basic training together, and had been assigned to Sudbury Airfield together. Since Matthews had had all of his schooling, he had risen through the ranks more quickly than Peter. He had become a tail gunner just in time for Jerry to attack France. Now, he was dead.

Peter walked into the officers' building, where officers bunked and ate. Peter always felt out of place here, but after a mission like this, the place was so dismal, barely anyone even noticed him. He found Murray's sleeping quarters and knocked on the door. A soft "come in" answered him and he opened the door.

He stepped in and came to attention.

"Oh, hey Newkirk," said Murray.

His tone told Peter that he need not be at attention. Peter went to ease, and looked down at Murray. Murray was seated on his bed, still in his battle wear. There was a half-drunk liquor bottle on his bedside table. Peter looked to the other bed in the room, wondering where Murray's roommate, Flying Officer Turner, was. Then he remembered that that plane had not come back.

"Need something," asked Murray, his tone of annoyance now.

"Oh," said Peter, shaking his head. "I just came to bring you Sergeant Matthew's tags, sir."

He stepped up to Murray and handed him the dog tags.

"Thanks," said Murray. He fingered them and Peter stepped back.

"I'll go now, sir," said Peter. "And I'm sorry, about Matthews and Turner, sir."

He gave the officer a salute and then turned back to the door.

"Technician," said Murray.

Peter turned back. "Sir?"

"I'm sorry for your loss too," said Murray. He gestured to the tags.

Peter nodded. "Thank you, sir."

With that, he left.

()()()()()()

That evening, after a nice shower, Peter enjoyed his meal with the other ground crews of the base. They were talking and laughing, most of them untouched by this afternoon's events. They all felt it when planes did not return, because they took care of those planes, and saw the men off in them almost every day. They were around the pilots and men a lot, because they were always concerned for the welfare of their planes. Still, they enjoyed not having to fly to a fight with a Jerry. Most of them were quite comfortable with being on base. If you wanted to be in a plane, you were crazy.

Peter was rather quiet tonight, because of Matthews's death. He had known the man well enough. At a night like this, they would have been talking over some ale in town. Matthews would be telling him about the mission. He always teased Peter, telling him that one day he would be up there.

Peter always said, "No thank you, mate. Me feet were made for the ground."

Now, there was no one to tell him about this mission. Not that he wanted to hear much about it. Too many people had not come back.

While listening to the other men talk, Sergeant Dales walked up. They fell silent.

"Carry on, chaps," said Dales. "I just need to have a word with JT Newkirk."

Peter nodded to them, for them to excuse him, and got up. He walked with Dales out of the building.

"Sir," asked Peter.

"I'm to bring you to Group Captain Lloyd," said Dales.

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

"I have an idea," said Dales. "But I can't say for sure. Come on."

They began walking from the mess hall to the office building across the compound.

"May I ask wot your idea is, sir," asked Peter.

"I think it's a promotion," said Dales.

"A promotion," echoed Peter. "But I only got promoted to Junior Technician two months ago. Doncha think it's a wee tad early for a promotion?"

"I normal times, yes," said Dales. "But the war is speeding some of these promotions of us enlisted men up. We lost a lot of men today, and we need men to replace them. As for people replacing you, there are more and more men enlisting every day."

"Oh," said Peter. "I guess I'll take a promotion. More money."

"Not too much," said Dales with a smile.

"No, sir, but more," said Peter. "That's wot counts."

Dales smiled as they reached the door to the offices. Peter opened the door, letting the Sergeant in first. Dales waited for him to step in, and they walked to the front desk together.

"How may I help you," asked the lady Corporal at the front desk.

"Could you point us in the direction of Group Captain Lloyd's office," asked Dales.

"Go down this hallway and up the first flight of stairs. When you reach the first floor, go down the hallway to your right, and it will be the third door on the left."

"Thank you," said Dales with a pleasant smile.

He started walking toward the stairs, and Peter leaned against the desk casually.

"You wouldn't 'appen to be free tomorrow night, pet, now would you," asked Peter.

The receptionist looked at him with batting eyelashes.

"Sorry, _Junior Technician_," she said. "But I'm already taken, by a _Pilot Officer_." She smiled. "Third door on the left."

Dales laughed, and grabbed Peter's arm, leading him away from the front desk. He led the rejected airman onto the stairwell.

"Nice try, you charmer," said Dales. "But remember that the Group Captain is waiting for us."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they came to his door, they opened it and went inside. There in the front room was the secretary.

"I have JT Newkirk to see Group Captain Lloyd," said Dales.

"Oh, yes," said the secretary. "You may go right in."

Dales and Peter nodded. They walked to the door but the secretary stopped them.

"Only JT Newkirk," said the secretary. "Sorry Sergeant."

"Sorry to 'im," said Peter. "Sir, I can't go see this ruddy officer by meself. The 'ighest ranked man I've ever seen face to face was a Flight Lieutenant!"

"Keep your voice down, straighten your uniform, and get in there," ordered Dales.

Peter scowled and did as he was told. He knocked softly on the door, and stepped in. In the office, Group Captain Lloyd was bent over some paper work. He was a graying man in his forties, with round little spectacles. He was in good shape, though, with wide shoulders. He looked rather odd sitting there at the desk. Peter shut the door behind him and came to attention with a sharp salute.

Lloyd looked up. "Ah, JT Newkirk. Please, at ease."

"Thank you, sir," said Peter, going to ease.

"I am sure you are wondering why you are here," said Lloyd. "So I will get straight to the point." He sat back. "You are getting a promotion."

"Thank you sir," said Peter. "But if I may ask you somethin'?"

"Certainly," said Lloyd.

"Well, sir," said Peter. "I don't mean any respect by this question, but why I am I 'earin' the news from you? If I'm just goin' from Junior Technician to Corporal to, well, that isn't so big. Not big enough for the Group Captain to tell me…in my opinion, sir."

"It is because of your opinions that I chose to tell you myself," replied Lloyd with a knowing smile.

"Sir?"

"You have a reputation with some of the officers," explained Lloyd.

Peter mentally winced. Had his big mouth got him in trouble? Sure, he was a bit hotheaded at times, but he did his job well. He never thought he would get punished for it.

"Before you worry too much," said Lloyd. "I want you to know that it is a good reputation. A lot of the officers like the way you treat their planes and their men, with respect and thoughtfulness."

"Me," blurted out Peter. He added quickly: "Sir?"

Lloyd chuckled. "Does it surprise you?"

"Well, sir," said Peter. "I just…I mean…I just do my job. Those planes need to fly, an' well we repair them. An' it ain't just me, sir. I mean, there's Sergeant Dales who's right outside, an' all the other Technicians an' Aircraftmen an' airmen I work wif. Sir, I'd just like to ask you again, wot makes this promotion so special?"

"You have been here a long time," said Lloyd. "Longer than most of the airman that are still in the ground crew. That is for the unfortunate reason that you just never received the schooling. But it is obvious that you are intelligent enough to do a well job. This promotion is different because you are not going just going to become a Corporal."

"I'm not, sir," asked Peter, confused.

"No," said Lloyd. "Because of our need for more men like you higher up, you will be trained for specific jobs in the planes."

Peter's mouth fell open. "Cor blimey! Do wot? You mental Guv?"

Lloyd started to laugh, and Peter blushed, realizing that he had just gone off on an officer. He bowed his head.

"Sorry, sir," he said. "I didn't mean that last bit o' wot I said. You really are fine China, I mean—" he shook his head, and Lloyd raised his hand for him to stop. Peter looked up at Lloyd worriedly.

"It's okay, old man," said Lloyd. "I would be surprised as well. And I am not insulted by whatever you said."

Peter was grateful that his slang had not been fully interpreted.

"Your effectiveness on the ground is well," said Lloyd. "You have a fine crew I learn, and so, you are now needed in the air."

Peter was now too surprised to say a word.

"This must appear to be a bit of a shock to you," continued Lloyd. "But I am moving you and a few others into the bombers, to get a feel of that atmosphere. For now, you will be trained as gunners. But my intention is for that to be temporary. Eventually, you will be trained for other jobs within our bombers: navigator, bomb aimer, wireless operator...the more technical jobs." Peter simply nodded. "You have been doing well, here, in Sudbury. (3) Now, you will not be so low on the totem pole."

Peter could only see the sight of the burning gun turret.

"Sir," asked Peter. "Doncha mean that _if_ we live through being a gunner, we'll be trained for other jobs?"

Lloyd sadly nodded. "I know, that this may also sound like a death sentence, especially after a day like this. But this is a war. I trust that you, and the other men I have picked for this, will perform as well as an English airman would be expected to perform."

Peter straightened up to attention. "Don't worry, sir. I will do my duty."

"I thought so," said Lloyd. He got up and walked around the desk. He handed Peter two pins. They were the insignias that would be placed on his dress blues, informing all that saw him that he was a corporal. "Congratulations. And I would change those propellers to some stripes." (4) He patted the patch on Peter's arm.

Peter saluted. "Thank you, sir. Is that all?"

"Yes," said Lloyd. "Your orders will be sent down tomorrow morning. Sergeant Dales will tell you where to report. After then, you are no longer under his command, but the command of the pilot you will be flying with."

"Yes sir," said Peter.

"Well, good night," said Lloyd.

"Good night, sir," said Peter, and he exited the office.

When Peter stepped out of the office, Dales got up from the waiting bench.

"So," he asked.

"You were right," said Peter. "It was a promotion."

"Great," said Dales. "Well, Mr. Corporal, how about we go back down to the mess and celebrate."

Peter smiled. "Now, wait a bit, mate. There's more to it. I'm being put into those bombers!"

Dales' mouth fell open. "You're pulling my leg, old man!"

"No," said Peter. "Really!"

"Wow," said Dales. "Did he tell you why?"

"I'll explain on the way back to the mess," said Peter. "Come on."

On the way back, Peter told Dales what the Group Captain had said. Dales was just as shocked as Peter about the idea of being in the air. They stopped before re-entering the mess hall.

"I don't know if I should say congratulations or I'm sorry," said Dales.

Peter chuckled. "Say congratulations. I'd rather 'ave that. Besides, I know that from down 'ere I sure did a lot for everythin', but from the air, I can 'it Jerry 'arder."

"Well," said Dales. "That is true, but while you're up there, don't forget about us on the ground."

"I won't," promised Peter. "'Ow could I? I've been at it for a more than year."

()()()()()()

Peter retired to bed later than usual that night. Everyone had been happy for Peter about his promotion. When the other men that had also been selected returned from the Group Captain's office, a small celebration ensued at the mess. When they returned to their barracks, Peter could not go to sleep right away. He had one more person to tell. He began to write a letter to his sister, Mavis.

Mavis was eight years younger than Peter and had, as far back as she could remember, been taken care of by him. Peter had felt responsibility for his younger sister ever since their father had left them when he was twelve. This left the income to the family at something they could not survive on. Thus, Peter dropped out of school. His mother, Elain, hated to see her little boy leave school, not even making it to secondary, but she knew it was what had to happen if they did not want to end up on the streets. Peter had also known how much it had hurt his mum to see him drop out, because she considered it important that her children be educated. So, Peter promised himself that he would always bring in enough money to keep Mavis in school at least. It worked, because now Mavis was seventeen (5) and completing her last year of secondary school.

It had been a tough job to do, though. Elain worked during the day cleaning an office building, and then at night in a classy restaurant where the tips were good. Peter worked during the day at Kingsley Warren's pub. He got off when he was supposed to pick up Mavis from school. At the pub, he learned different talents like performing magic. Alfie the Artist was a regular visitor to the pub, and when he first saw Peter and realized he had some good fingers, he taught him some other less honest talents and more challenging magic. Peter put them to use daily by pick-pocketing people as he went to bring Mavis home.

About the time Mavis was eight, she could walk herself home, so Peter worked later, until he had to go home and perform the house chores, and watch over Mavis. But soon after that, Elain worked at the restaurant all day and only partly into the night. That meant that Peter did not have to come home until much later. It was in these days, while he was in his late teens, that Peter was at his worst. He had a free reign with Mavis able to manage herself until Elain came home, and Elain having no idea what Peter was up to. Well, in the beginning at least. His escapades of criminality were becoming much more than just pick-pocketing. It was in these two to three years that he was a part of the most brutal aspects of what took place in the slums of East End.

There were many ways to make an extra pound, none more decent than the other. But Peter was not without the memory of his dear mum teaching him when he was younger to be a decent man; that most likely saved him from doing more atrocious deeds. There were men who kept order amongst thieves, and Peter answered to a couple. He stole for others, and then received a percentage of the value of the item that he had stolen. There were also times when a name or reputation needed to be defended. Gambling and boxing were not an uncommon mix. More than once on occasion he came home battered; and sometimes with more money to spare.

The saying that there is no such thing as a good thief was true; even though Peter made himself believe it not to be. After some time of leading this life, he did become greedier and acted more dangerously towards any obstacles that lie in his path to a valuable item. He was also climbing through the ranks of respect amongst other thieves, despite his age. It was his determination to impress them that made him valuable to them.

There was, of course, a personal downside. Life at home was getting harder. Elain was now no longer clueless about the extra money that was finding its way into their home. Peter's appearance and his coming home extremely late at times told her exactly what was going on. She didn't hold back either. She let Peter know exactly what she thought about it. Peter loved his mother more than anyone else he had ever known, and it really was a blow to hear how disappointed she was in him. But when she told him that he was beginning to resemble his father he felt like he had been betrayed. That was it; he made up his mind to do what he wanted to do anyway.

Deep inside, though, he knew she was right. He had blown her off casually, but really feared the path he was going down. What he feared more, though, was that he believed that there was no turning back. The only people Peter opened up to about his fears were Kingsley Warren, Alfie the Artist, and Thomas Mackey, a good friend he had known since his early childhood. The two elder men, even though they had seen much criminal action, agreed with Elain. Kingsley wanted Peter to stay at the pub and work for him full-time. Alfie offered him some spots performing in other places around London. Both did not want to see Peter lose any chance of success elsewhere because his days were destroyed by stealing for others. Thomas was impartial, because he was on the same path as Peter.

Then the wake-up call came. At nineteen, he was caught in a bank with four other men after hours, midway through a robbery of someone's box. The man who had hired them for the job abandoned them in bailing them out. They were sentenced to a year in Scotland Yard. Peter was devastated. He had never imagined that he would be caught. And he could not imagine what was going on at home. There would be less money coming in, but also one less mouth to feed. He could hardly imagine his mother's reaction without feeling terribly guilty.

The year went by without incident, and with Peter only reforming himself. He was able to write home, but only Mavis answered, and that was only after several unanswered letters. Young Mavis was very timid about it all. Having her older brother in prison was not something she had ever expected. She rarely spoke about Elain in the letters, and never said anything about how she was taking it or if she ever said anything about Peter. When he was finally released and came home, Elain barely looked at him. Mavis kept her distance and Peter felt like he was an outcast. He knew he deserved it though. Mavis eventually came around, because she had missed her brother. When she realized that his brotherly love for her and protectiveness had never diminished but had actually grown, she was comforted. But Elain took longer. The way she saw it, her son was becoming his father. Peter knew this was what she believed and was determined to prove to her that he was not. He went back to the pub and got his job back for the night. During the day, he worked in a factory.

There was a long week in which Peter and his mother did not exchange a word. Peter was waiting for her to speak first, to accept him back into the household officially. But he saw that the silence was hurting Mavis, had knew it was unfair for her to suffer more. So, he finally spoke to Elain expressing to his mother how sorry he was and how guilty he felt.

He could remember it as if it had happened yesterday.

He had come home, late one evening. Kingsley sent him home never too late, to assure Elain he was up to no mischief, but it was still well into the night, Mavis already in bed. Peter had expected to find his mother asleep as well. But when he walked into the little apartment with that first room the kitchen and den, she was still up, ironing the clothes for the next day. Peter locked the door, and took his coat and hat off, hanging them on the rack. He went into the kitchen and warmed up some of the tea. As he sat at the table, sipping his warm cup, he could hear the sizzling of the iron. That was the only noise.

"Mum," he finally said. "I…I know you must think I'm the worst son a woman like yourself could ever 'ave. An' I deserve to be thrown out on the street. I don't 'ave to be 'ere iffen you don't want me to be. I came back, not only 'cause I 'ad nowhere else to go, but because I love you, an' Mavis, an' I never meant any 'arm to either o' you. You both deserve more than this, an' that's why I always wanted to bring 'ome more. I just went at it the wrong way. I learned me lesson, though. I shoulda listened to you, when you warned me about it all. You're the best mum a bloke could ask for. I always knew you loved me. Now, I just 'ope you still will. I mean, I was never the first to admit anythin' like this, but I do need you Mum. I don't know wot I'd do without you."

Elain had continued to iron throughout his confession. She never looked up at him or even hinted that she was listening. Peter watched her tentatively, hoping for any sort of response. After a bit, and there being no response, he got up and headed to bed.

"Peter," Elain called softly.

Peter turned around quickly. "Yes?"

"Come 'ere, boy," she said.

He came obediently. She stepped away from the iron and met him in the den. He stood before her patiently. He had grown to be much taller than her. She had always been a rather short woman. She looked up at him, studying him. She took his hands into hers.

"You will always be my son," she said. "Nothin' you ever do in your life is goin' to change the fact that I love you. I raised you, an' nothin' will ever change that. I only fear for you. But I 'urt meself when I told _you_ that you were growin' up to be your father. That's wot I'd always feared 'appenin'. But I should've known that you couldn't be sheltered forever, 'specially when you started workin' at such a young age. _You_ deserve better, Peter, because you're young. It just didn't 'appen that way. But you are years better than your father 'cause 'e would've never done wot you did. If it's anyone's fault that you ended up where you did, it's mine. I expected too much from you."

"Mum, no," said Peter quickly. "I didn't care about school anyway. I just wanted to 'ang around them pubs all the time, listenin' to people perform, an' watch other performances at the Palladium." He smiled. "Mum, we both wanted one thing: somethin' better for each other. It just makes me glad that we weren't really fightin' one another. Now, I just wanna start over. I wanna make sure Mavis gets a good life, and I'll work 'ard an' 'onest just for 'er."

Elain smiled as if she had just seen an angel.

"Thank you, Peter," she said. "For everything."

And she wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him tightly, with tears in her eyes. Peter returned the hug, picking her right up from the floor and spinning her around. She laughed, and it was music to Peter's ears.

The next few years were simple; still hard, but Peter had never been happier. He was working constantly, but in better places. He was able to give up the job at the factory when Alfie secured him a good spot at the Palladium. Sometimes he performed by himself, sometimes with others, and sometimes as just an assistant to others. When he wasn't performing he worked there just earn more money. He was able to keep his job at Kingsley's as well. Anyone who he had been a criminal with before, now regarded him as a traitor almost, but he could care less. He was now happy with himself and had come to terms with his life.

Things seemed to be getting better too. There was more income coming in due to his work at the Palladium. Mavis was excelling in her school work, proving to be a bright young girl, seeing as she was learning a lot of it on her own. During the summer, she began to work, also at Kingsley's pub, but tucked away in the kitchen. That was Peter's decision. There were some things that went on in that pub that he did not want his younger sister to know of. Alfie was delighted to see another young Newkirk, but Peter gave him strict orders to never teach her anything dishonest. So, the cheeky safecracker stuck to magic tricks, which Peter was still unsure about. But Mavis was growing up, and becoming her own little individual. She graduated out of elementary school, and was the only one in her class who didn't have her mother to greet her in the end. Instead, there was Peter, rushing to greet her after a show at the Palladium, and then treating her to a little dinner in a quiet restaurant.

Mavis was also growing up to realize more and more about the world she was growing up in. She learned that young Cockney girls were not given jobs out in West End. She came home crying one day after harshly being rejected and being called some derogatory names by employers. Peter almost considered contacting some old friends and going over to those employers and having a word or two with them in a side alley. But that was just his anger getting the better of him momentarily. Instead, he began to teach her how to speak with a proper English accent, like he had learned to do when working around West End. Going into secondary school that summer, she came with more confidence and a new accent. She would never let anyone know where she came from, though, because she was always afraid she would be rejected because of it.

Then, tragedy struck the Newkirk home. Elain became very ill. Peter and Mavis had the best doctor they could afford come over. She had a bad fever, and Peter knew it was bad. He came to the sad realization that it was unlikely she would come through it. During this time, he did less work, trying to be at home with Elain, to take care of her. The pals that he had had at the Palladium turned their backs on him, bitter that he would suddenly stop performing. Only Kingsley still paid him his usual salary, and Alfie came by with some food every now and then, always staying out of Elain's sight. Peter warned him not to come around, unsure of how his mum would react to the man who had taught him so much. But when Peter lost some of these supposed "friends" it hurt him, because now was when he needed someone to lean on most. Only Faithful Thomas Mackey was there for him. He cared for Elain as well.

He remained strong for Mavis, though. He never allowed her a day off from school while their mother was sick. Of course, the young girl thought he was the devil for that, and put up quite a fight. But Peter never gave an inch, and Mavis went to school every day. She soon realized that she was foolish for arguing because Peter had given a lot up for her. She was grateful for him, and could not put up much of fight towards him without feeling guilty.

Elain Laurie Newkirk passed away on a Sunday, and Peter was rather glad for that, because he and Mavis were both there. This was how Peter got into the RAF. On her death bed, Elain made Peter promise that he would get a good, honest job to support Mavis until she could support herself. Peter could never break a promise like that, and only a few days after his Elain's death, he was out looking for the right job. Working only at Kingsley's was not enough, and when he tried to go back to the Palladium, they no longer needed his acts, which were being surpassed by others. His absence had given them the idea that he no longer wanted to work there. Few restaurants could pay what he needed to be paid. And no one else would hire him because he did not have enough schooling.

Then, there were calls for people to enter the military, and a small draft. Peter knew he would be wanted, so before he could be taken into the infantry, and made some lowly foot soldier given the worst jobs, he volunteered for the RAF. At least there, in the military, all they wanted was his name and age: the military.

He had never, in all of his short life, thought that he would ever enlist. His father had been in the Great War, and after seeing what it did to him, he did not want to be anywhere nears the military. But it appeared to be his only option. Not to mention, things were getting tense in the European mainland. Peter knew that could very well mean that he may end up in battle. But, it was still unlikely, that if he put himself in the right branch, he would never see battle, because he had hardly been to school. That was why he had selected the RAF. He knew that pilots were officers, and you had to have gone to school to even be in a plane. Most likely, he would just be a clerk's man or something. Perfectly okay with him.

It was the perfect job for the situation. He would not need to support himself, because as long as he did his job, the RAF would support him. So, he would send his pay to Mavis, who would remain at home under the neighbors' eyes. Peter would not be able to see her as often, but would come home every chance he got. And he planned on not re-enlisting as soon as his term was up. The idea of him going into the military made a lot of the boys he had grown up with almost laugh at him. They could not see their ole Peter Newkirk following orders. But those who really did trust him; they sent him off with many good lucks.

Now, they were in a war. There was no retiring because every able-bodied man was needed. And now, even though Peter had thought he was safe, he was not. He was going into battle. He had a lot to tell Mavis. He had a lot to tell her, now that he realized that there was a higher chance that he might not see her again. The scene from that afternoon was burned into his mind.


	2. Louis LeBeau

**Chapter Two: Louis LeBeau**

May 18, 1940

Louis LeBeau snapped to attention, and gave off a crisp salute. His commanding officer, Lieutenant Rivière, returned it.

"Well done, Corporal," said Rivière. "You deserved this."

"_Merci beaucoup, mon Lieutenant_," said Louis.

They kissed on both cheeks, out of custom.

"Now," said Rivière. "I suggest you get moving. You do not want to give up any of your leave that you have."

"Of course not, mon Lieutenant," said Louis. "If that is all?"

"_Oui_," said Rivière. "It is. Enjoy the time with your family."

"I will," said Louis. "_Au revoir, mon Lieutenant."_

Louis quickly left Rivière's office. In the lobby, waiting for him, was _son miuex ami _(1)_,_ Jean Août. Jean got up, standing a full head taller than Louis. He approached Louis, looking expectantly at his collar.

"Well," asked Jean with anticipation.

Louis showed him the pins on his collar signifying that he was a corporal. They glinted in the sun coming through the window. There was an exclamation of surprise from Jean.

"Congratulations, Louis," he said, clapping him on the back. "I told you it was a promotion."

"_Oui_," replied Louis. "You did."

"Oh, you _bâtard_," said Jean. "You are too modest. I know you did not believe me." He threw an arm around Louis's shoulders and led him to the door. "Come, we should go celebrate with some wine. I am sure the men at the mess will not bother giving us some for your promotion."

"I wish I could, Jean," said Louis. "But remember, I can go on leave today."

They stepped outside.

"That is right," exclaimed Jean. "_Non_, I remember, and do no fret. Come, I will help you pack. You need to get home as quickly as possible, so that you can spend every minute with everyone back at home."

They hurried to their barracks. Louis and Jean shared a bunk. Louis laid out his little duffle bag that had been issued to him by the army, and started stuffing in his uniform and the civilian outfit he had with him. Jean tossed him certain items from his footlocker. Jean knew everything that he would want to bring. Their friendship dated back to as far as they could remember. Their parents were good friends, having also grown up in their little town outside Paris. They had just missed being on leave together. Most of the men had gone on leave last week, but Louis had been away. He had been an aide to a _Capitaine_ when he went to Le Harve for military business. Now, Louis was on his way home for his three day leave. Actually, it did not begin officially until tomorrow, but Lieutenant Rivière was letting him off early since there was absolutely no reason for him to be there at the base.

When Louis was finished packing, he and Jean left the barracks. Outside, there was a private in a jeep, waiting nearby."

"I am supposed to bring you to the station," said the private.

Louis nodded, and turned to Jean. "_Au revoir_. Do not get into any mischief while I am away."

"What am I going to do in three days anyway," asked Jean playfully. "You stay out of trouble. And tell everyone I said '_Bonjour et Adieu'_."

"I will, _mon ami_," promised Louis.

He got into the jeep, and the private drove off. It was about a twenty minute drive to the nearest town and train station. But it was scenic. Louis was enjoying his day. It was about two months since he had joined the armed forces. With his basic training completed, he had already been about, and when he returned he was given a promotion. Now, he was on his way home for the first time since he had left. He could not wait to be home with his family once again.

The private dropped him off at the station. He bought a ticket for the next train to Paris, and then sat down at a bench to wait for it. As he waited, he thought about the trouble that his country was in. Once again, there was a madman in the neighboring country, Germany, who thought he needed to rule the world. And once again, there were few who could dispute him by force.

Louis's father had served in the Great War, and had hardly mentioned anything of it, until the recent past years when the politics of Germany were becoming tense and dangerous. Then, when Austria and Czechoslovakia were annexed, and then Poland attacked, Louis began to fear more for his beloved France. Feeling the need to do something, he enlisted in March. It had been tough, because he had so much at home to live for, but he decided it was also worth enough to die for. It was the right thing to do. Of course, it had been easier with Jean with him the whole way.

Finally, the train arrived. Louis quickly got on, and handed the conductor his ticket. Then, he sought out an empty compartment. The train was almost, full; this was one of the last stops before Paris. He eventually found one, and slipped in. Right before the train lurched forward, another soldier stuck his head into the compartment.

"Mind if I sit in here," he asked Louis.

"Oh, _non_," said Louis. "You may."

"_Merci_," said the soldier. He stepped all the way in, revealing that he was a seaman. He was also carrying a little duffel bag. He sat opposite of Louis. For a moment, they sat in silence, as they train left the town.

"Where are you headed," asked the seaman.

"Paris," replied Louis. "Or right outside of Paris actually. I am on leave."

The seaman nodded. "I just got off leave. I am headed back to the coast: Le Harve to be exact. He sighed. "I think we're moving out soon after, to go to Norway."

"I just got back from Le Harve yesterday," said. "I went with _mon Capitaine _for official business. Not that they tell us what that business is."

The seaman chuckled. "Have you seen action yet?"

"_Non_," answered Louis. "But only the day after I return, we are to move out. We are going to the north."

The seaman winced. "Right where the fight is."

"_Oui_," said Louis. "Right where the fight it."

()()()()()()

The train ride lasted about an hour, and then they reach the bustling, beautiful city of Paris. The seaman and Louis got off together, and they parted with a friendly handshake in the station. They wished one another luck, and then parted ways. They were not the only soldiers in the station. Many were boarding, or getting off. There was some saying their good-byes to their families, their sweethearts, their parents. Others were rushing into the open arms of those they had not seen in some time. Louis felt the pang of homesickness, and was glad he would be returning, if only for a short time. After that, he knew that he would not see them for a long time, if ever again.

War…he was a Frenchman…he should be more concerned with love. But that was why he was fighting, was it not? He was fighting out of his love for his country, the freedoms it gave him, and then all of those who he loved. He was fighting so that his mother, father, and sisters may enjoy freedom, and so that all the little babes of the war would not grow up in tyranny. That was why he was fighting.

He would have remained in Paris for awhile, to stroll the city and enjoy it, but he was eager to get home. But first he went to make a quick visit to one of his favorite restaurants. It was not far from the train station, and he would be able to get a cab more easily from there as well. Walking through the streets like a regular Parisian, Louis came to a small, classy restaurant within minutes. It was called _Ma Petite Cheri. _Louis walked right in, disregarding the _attendrez placé, s'il vous plaît _(2) sign and made a beeline for the kitchen door. He did not even look at the customers, all fancily dressed. They were giving him odd looks as to why a random soldier with his duffle bag was slipping through the white-clothed tables. But he reached the kitchen doors and pushed through them, just in time to hear his _Oncle _Jacque, the head chef and owner, yelling at his assistant chefs to get the food out faster. Louis smiled. He knew there were no real troubles with this kitchen; his uncle was just always worried about his perfect dishes and his customers. There was no better man to run the restaurant.

Louis had grown up around the restaurant. When he was very young, he showed his like for helping his mother in the kitchen. He enjoyed the creation of his favorite dishes and then experimenting with his own ideas, or maybe his own touches to something. He had always enjoyed the excitement in his uncle's kitchen as well. Many times, he had worked here in the summers, watching the chefs at work and unable to wait until he could join them professionally. Already, his uncle had allowed him to make the simpler dishes for his customers. At home, he made all sorts of things for his family, of course, under the watchful eyes of his mother and grandmother.

As soon as Louis stepped in, he breathed in the heavenly aroma of the food being cooked. To him, this was his heaven. A waiter, who was bringing out a tray of food, spotted Louis first.

"Louis," he exclaimed. "_Monsieur _Jacque, your nephew is here!"

Jacque turned around, his anxious expression turning into one of pleasant surprise.

"Louis! My dear boy, look at you! A man serving our country! There is no greater honor!"

Louis smiled at the praiseful exclamations. He embraced his uncle. Jacque placed firm hands on Louis' shoulders and looked him up and down.

"_Oui_, and honor indeed," he finished.

"Almost as much honor as cooking for your country," said Louis.

Jacque laughed heartily. "_Oui,_ you have a point. So, on your way home?"

"_Oui_," said Louis. "I am on a three day leave."

"That is good," said Jacque. He looked at his watch. "And you have come just in time for lunch! Please, you must stay."

"Oh, I wish I could _Oncle_," said Louis with honest disappointment. "But I cannot stay long. I was passing by, and since I had not seen you for so long, I came to say hello."

"And good-bye so quickly," said Jacque. "But no matter. I know you must be eager to see your family. It has been two months,_ non_?"

"_Oui_," answered Louis. "But it feels longer."

"I am afraid to ask," said Jacque. "But are you moving out soon?"

Louis nodded solemnly. "Only the day after I get back. We are going to the north."

Jacque sighed. "You are a brave man, Louis. We shall be praying for you every minute. But no wonder you are eager to get back home. However, before you go, I must send you off well. Stay here. I will be back in just a moment."

He hastily walked off, and Louis watched him leave the kitchen. He came back only moments later with a bottle of wine. He held it out to Louis. The younger man took it, looking it over.

"But _Oncle,_" exclaimed Louis. "This is one of your oldest wines. I cannot take this!"

"_Non_, I insist," said Jacque. "Bring it home and share it with your family. This is your father's favorite brand."

"_Oui_, I know," said Louis, with a playful smile. "That is why I am reluctant to take it home. If I do, he will be busy the whole three days I am there!"

Jacque laughed boisterously again. "Well then, let us have a taste right now."

"_Oncle_," pleaded Louis. "I must be going."

"_Non, non_," said Jacque. "Wait just a moment more. I told you I would send you off well, and I shall."

"This wine is enough," assured Louis.

But Jacque was ignoring him. He walked over to where the dishes were being dried and pulled out two wine glasses. He then took the wine bottle from Louis and handed it to one of the waiters.

"Open this Paschal," he said. Then, he took Louis by the arm and led him out of the kitchen. When they were out into the main room, he waved one hand in the air. "Please, my dear customers, may I have your attention!" Louis blushed deeply as everyone looked to him and Jacque. When they were silent, Jacque continued to address them. "This is my wonderful nephew, Louis LeBeau! He and I share a deep passion for cooking, and he is a fine chef. But he and I, like yourselves as well, have a passion for our beloved France!" Many heads nodded in agreement. "Obviously, you can see that he is in our armed forces. He made this choice to defend our country." Paschal, the waiter, came out with the wine. He poured some into Jacque and Louis' glasses. Jacque raised his glass into the air. "This is to my nephew, as he leaves to fight in the north, and also to every young man who has dedicated himself to serving and defending us." He looked at Louis lovingly. "May this be a swift battle, and may many of our sons return."

He raised his glass a bit higher, and everyone in the restaurant raised theirs as well, toasting Louis and all the soldiers of France.

"_Merci_," said Louis, looking at Jacque. "_Dieu nous bénit tout_." (3)

()()()()()()

"Here is fine," said Louis to the cab driver. The driver stopped where a dusty country road came off the main highway. Louis paid the driver and got out.

It was not a long walk to the little town of Estève. The little town was about ten miles outside Paris, and peacefully situated in fertile fields where generations of farmers had carefully tilled heir crop. Potatoes, wheat, barley, and corn were their most abundant crops, and they were sold right into Paris. Jacque bought directly from his brother, ensuring his family that there was no middle man to create unfair prices. Louis looked over the fields, where the crops were about halfway to their harvesting point. He had left when they were planting them, and actually missed the hard work. Of course, basic training had been hard enough, but the simple farming life was now calling back to him as he walked down the country lane.

Soon, the little town was in view, and Louis quickened his pace. The town was rather quiet, because it was Sunday afternoon. There were children playing in the streets. Older men were sitting out on their porches, talking. The women were inside, cooking their Sunday dinner. Others roamed the town, doing a little bit of business, or just taking a walk. Louis walked right in, and a few of the townspeople waved at him, welcoming him home. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew everyone's news and gossip. So, it was a town wide surprise that Louis was coming home for leave a day early.

Of course, the news traveled faster than Louis could walk. When he finally came to the little farmhouse which had housed twelve people at one time, his mother was already walking out of the kitchen straight for him, followed by five of his sisters, all younger. He was practically pushed inside by all of them. There, he found his grandmother and grandfather sitting in the den; his grandmother knitting and his grandfather reading the newspaper. They looked up when he came in and greeted him warmly, but definitely less enthusiastically than his sisters and mother. Then, the youngest of his sisters, Daphne, also his little pet, darted outside and sprinted to the barn. Louis looked out the window to see his father tending to a newborn calf. When Daphne reached him, she took him by the arm, and pulled him to the house. Louis stepped outside, sure that his sister did not explain to their father as to why he was urgently being called to the house. When his father saw Louis, he walked a little faster and embraced his son.

"Look at you," he said. "You look stronger already. Come, come. Mama, is dinner ready?"

"Papa," said Mama disapprovingly. "It has only just been lunch. You know this."

"_Oui_," said Papa. "But my son looks like he needs to eat. Come in, Louis. Have you not had your lunch?"

They stepped all the way into the kitchen, shutting the back door behind them.

"_Non_," said Louis. "I wanted to come home first."

"_Tres bon,_" exclaimed Grande-mère. "A good son knows that the best food is at home."

"Well, I did stop at _Oncle_ Jacque's," said Louis. "But only to visit. That reminds me, he sent me home with this." He pulled out the wine bottle from his duffel bag. "I shared a few sips with him, but he insisted that I bring the whole bottle home to share with all of you."

"_Tres bon_ to that," said Grand-père. He pushed himself out of the chair and made his way into the kitchen.

"Papa," said Grande-mère. "You cannot drink too much of that."

"I was more concerned about my Papa," said Louis.

They laughed. Mama took the bottle and set it on the table. "Malorie, take your brother's bag upstairs into his room. Jacqueline, go get some glasses for all of us." Two of Louis's sisters quickly went to work.

"Even me," asked Daphne.

"Even you," said Mama. "But not too much." She went to the kitchen stove. "Louis, Papa have a seat. Daphne, how about you run down the road and tell Geneviève and Marguerite that Louis is home."

Daphne left the kitchen as Louis and Papa seated himself at the kitchen table. Grande-mère and Grand-père joined them. Mama continued to stir her pot and then went to chopping up some more ingredients.

Louis smiled; the sensation of being home, if only for a little while, was very comforting. His family was large, and it suited them all well. They were all very fond of one another. There were family quarrels, of course, but there were no bad rifts between anyone. Louis was the third eldest. He had two older sisters, Geneviève and Marguerite. Both were married and living out of the house. Geneviève lived in the town, because her husband was a carpenter. She had two young babes. Marguerite lived a half mile down the road from the LeBeau household, with her husband who was also a farmer. She had only one little girl. After Louis, there was Agathe, who was currently engaged. She was supposed to be married in two weeks, but there were thoughts of pushing it up, because he fiancé had also joined the military and would be on leave in a week. After that, no one knew where he would be going. The four youngest in the LeBeau household were Liliane, Jacqueline, Malorie, and Daphne.

With so many people, the farm was well-worked and there was always time to have some freedom in the afternoons and on the weekend. At least now for the younger ones. When Louis had been a boy, he had been working out there every day for long hours.

When Daphne came back, she found that the family had already poured the wine without her, but Mama's promise was not forgotten and she was allowed some wine. Daphne had also come back with her two older sisters, and their children. Mama then sent Malorie and Daphne out to tell Marguerite's and Geneviève's husbands that dinner would be at the LeBeau's that night. No one would dispute.

After the wine was put away, Louis helped with dinner, against Mama's wishes. He had changed into his civilian clothes, feeling even more comfortable. While dinner was prepared, the seating arrangements were done by the younger girls. They arranged some tables out in the yard in the shade of the trees. There would be too many people to eat inside. Dinner is an important affair in France, and nothing was to go amiss. When the two husbands arrived, they had brought their own parents, which only delighted Mama even more. The more mouths she was able to feed, the happier she was. Louis was glad as well, because having the whole family there before he was sent away was more than he could have asked for.

Well, finally dinner was ready. The food was set out onto the table, and everyone seated themselves. The grace was said by Grand-père, and then they dug in. Having lived off military food for two months, the delicious homemade meal was almost enough to make Louis desert; especially when they got to the dessert. There was nothing really fancy about the food, just your classic French dishes for a large, family meal. You could taste the freshness of everything, having come from the farm or the fields, or out of the market in town. Nothing was wasted, as everything poured more taste into the meal. It was Heaven on Earth.

Of course, during the meal, there was much visiting between everyone. They all wanted to talk to Louis. The few men got together afterwards and discussed the politics and where they thought they were all going to end up. More and more, news of the battles in the north were reaching them. Many people were still hopeful that the Nazis would be held back. No one could dream of being occupied again. But as more civilian refugees fled the battles, some were seeing it as a reality that that would be their fate again. This was nothing to march into battle on, so Louis often tried to keep out of conversations that gave off a too negative air. Seeing this, no one tried to talk about the nasty things going on in the world. They focused on just visiting with one another, and enjoying everyone's company. Louis was satisfied with just doing that.

That night, Louis had no trouble falling asleep, as the familiarity of home took over. It was very peaceful.

()()()()()()

May 20, 1940

Louis woke with a start. With heavy eye lids, he grabbed his watch off the bedside table. It was 0435 in the morning. Even on the farm, this was too early to wake up. But the pounding coming from downstairs was relentless. What was that racket? He got up out of bed, and walked out his door. Directly out of his door was the banister. From there he could see the front door. He looked down, and saw Papa opening the door.

"What is it," asked Papa.

"I must speak with Corporal Louis LeBeau," said a voice from outside.

Louis saw his father's face fall. He stepped aside, opening the door wider. "Come in."

A soldier stepped inside. He was a Sergeant, and had a messenger bag slung over his shoulders. Louis instantly realized what was happening. He came down the stairs.

"I am Corporal Louis LeBeau. What is going on?"

"All forces available have been called to the north," said the Sergeant. "I know it is your leave, but this is an emergency."

Louis nodded. He saw his mother and grandparents looking at him from the den. Looking up, he saw his five younger sisters peering down at him curiously.

"I will not be long," said Louis. He hurried upstairs.

As he went into his room, his sisters followed him.

"Where are you going," asked Jacqueline.

"To the north," replied Louis as he pulled hid duffel bag onto his bed. Agathe and Liliane started handing him everything he needed.

"But isn't that where all the fighting is," asked Malorie.

"_Oui_," answered Louis.

"Why must you go," asked Daphne.

"Because I must fight for our country," replied Louis. "Our freedom is being threatened. Your freedom is being threatened. And I want my sisters to grow up in freedom."

They were silent until Louis was fully packed, and then he ushered them out of the room so that he could change into his uniform. This time, he would not be wearing his dress uniform. When he was through, he glanced around the room once, to make sure he had not forgotten anything. He left quickly, and hurried down the stairs.

"I am ready," said Louis to the sergeant.

His sisters were all lined up. He kissed and hugged every single one of them, Grande-mère, and Mama. Mama hugged him fiercely, and there were tears I her eyes. Louis shook hands with Grand-père and Papa.

"Give my good-byes to Marguerite and Geneviève," he said. He winked at Daphne as he walked through the door. There was jeep parked outside. The Sergeant climbed in at the driver's seat. Louis threw his duffel bag in the back and got in on the passenger side. He waved to his family as they drove off, hoping with all his heart that he would see them again.

()()()()()()

Louis found that he was not entirely sad about having to leave a day early. He was thankful that he had gotten to see them at all. On the second day there, he had run chores for Mama, and visited with people in town. He had gone to visit Jean's family, and had given them all his best wishes. It had been a rather lazy day. Dinner was not as large of an ordeal as his first night. Jacque had come by for lunch, in order to spend more time with Louis. He made him promise that he would stop by with some time to spare on his way back to the base. Of course, now, that would not be happening.

They drove into Paris, where Louis was brought to his unit at the train station. The trains were only carrying soldiers off. Even though it was quite early in the morning, there were many people of the city who had come to send off their boys in uniform.

After some roaming around, Louis finally found his unit. They were already boarding. There was an MP checking each man through. He checked Louis's dog-tags, and then he was sent on. He went down the narrow corridors, which were also filled with soldiers. Finally, he found part of his platoon in one, and he sat down next to Jean.

In the two months of training, the men had become close, but they were mostly from the same area. Most had met one another at one time or another, even if they had just been acquaintances. Now, however, they were prepared to go and fight alongside one another, completely trusting the other man with their lives. In the compartment, were Louis's closest companions in the unit. There was Corporal Etienne LeRoi, who lived in the next town down the road from Jean and Louis. On a large estate a couple of miles away from Louis's farm, there was Corporal Bern Moreau. Private Anstel Benoit was the son of a businessman in Paris. Louis had met him once while serving at his uncle's restaurant. The last man in the compartment was Private Remy Cavalier. Remy was the youngest of them all, and LeBeau enjoyed having him around, because he reminded him of having his younger sisters around. At least the fact that they were younger and looked up to their elders. Being a boy, Remy was more independent acting, but Louis saw how he really was. Remy was strong, and Louis was proud to have him around.

When the trains finally started pulling out of Paris, Louis sighed. There was something stirring in him as he found himself watching the Eiffel Tower get smaller and smaller. He was nervous, excited, scared, and glad all at the same time. He could feel that it was a long road he was about to go on, and his emotions were clashing with one another.

"I wonder how long it will take us to get there," wondered Jean aloud.

There were six of them in the compartment.

"We're only going to Amiens," said Etienne. "I heard that that's the end of the line."

Then, _un Capitaine _stood in the doorway of their compartment. They began to get up, but he shook his head, so they remained seated.

"This is what is happening," he said. "We will not be on this train the whole way. We are getting off at Amiens. Then, we will march the rest of the way; or until we find the Nazis. There has been a strong attack from the Germans, and they are beating our men and the British back. Right now, they are trapped on the coast, heading towards _Dunquerque_ to be exact. There will probably be an evacuation from there, but our job and everyone we are with will be to keep the Germans preoccupied long enough for a counter-attack to be made. That is all I can tell you for now."

He left without another word. Louis fidgeted with his rifle.

"I guess this is it," he said.

"_Oui_," said Jean. "But for them? Or for us?"


	3. Dunkirk: Part One

**Chapter Three: Dunkirk: Part one**

May 31, 1940

By now, he was used to the plane. He no longer had that funny sensation in his stomach when they took off, or when they did an odd maneuver. He knew how to lean to keep himself from toppling over or losing his balance when they titled left or right. He knew how to lean forward when they were making a dive, or to lean back when they were going steeply up. By now, he really was an airman.

Corporal Peter Newkirk's first week was more of schooling than anything. He had been assigned to Flying Officer Murray's crew, to replace Sergeant Matthews. The crew welcomed him fairly enough, but were rather timid around him at first. Since the crew was grounded without their plane, they took unregistered planes and practiced different maneuvers around the base and over the English countryside. Peter ended up in the tail gun turret, and found himself a little ill after the first flight. The next day he was more nervous, but was at least prepared. Each day they would fly some, and then work on other assignments of theirs. Peter was rapidly being taught about navigation; he figured that they were trying to make a navigator out of him. There were several others in his little class, all of whom had had more schooling than he. There were some mathematic skills that he did not acquire, but was determined to learn what he needed to learn. He was determined to get out of the gun turret. He had not even seen battle, yet, but was sure he did not want to be hanging off the end of a bomber when the time came.

So, he flew with his crew for half the day, and spent the other half with his nose in books. This was something he had never expected to be doing. He was being quick about learning how to gauge distance with time, and how degrees were used to turn a plane. Although he knew the others in his class had a greater advantage, this just made him even more determined to learn it all. He wanted to show that even though he had not gone to school, he was still bright enough to learn and go further. Really, the more he thought about it, the more he thought that he was blessed to be given the opportunity. He had never expected an opportunity like it.

But then, the plane was ready, which meant there were missions to be flown. The first day the plane was ready, Peter found himself leaving English air. It was off to France…and Jerry…and Messerschmitts.

The fierce battles in the air caught him off guard, but he quickly caught on. And he also realized that it was not so much the enemy fighters he should be worried about; it was the ack-ack batteries on the ground. The anti-aircraft guns were deadly. They had no need to be whizzing around while aiming, so most often, they were able to hit something. Peter originally thought that this would not be the worst of his problems. He was gravely mistaken. On the first day, they were flying so low because of the dense fog. The fighters were actually above them, troubling one another, leaving the bombers to do what they must. When they went low to drop the bombs on the advancing Panzer divisions, Peter used his gun to strafe as many Nazi soldiers as he could. Then, when they came up above the clouds, and back into the vulnerability of the Messerschmitts, he turned his gun to the dodgy fighters.

There were different experiences each time he went up. On the third day, they did not even reach their destination, because they received such bad damage from a Messerschmitt, they had to return to the base for repairs. They barely made it, and their landing was less than a comfortable one. The damage grounded the plane for two days. Peter was sure it was back to the books. Instead, the next morning he was put in another plane to replace a wounded man while he recovered. He also changed position from being off the tail, to being in the nose turret. He felt a bit safer, because most fighters were trying to get on the tail of a bomber. Still, he was precarious.

He was wounded his second day in that plane, but not severely. Some bullets struck the gun turret, coming through the glass on his right. He had seen it coming, and ducked some. That had saved his life. He would have gotten hit in the face if he hadn't. But the glass shards flew everywhere, cutting up his face. He went through the rest of the mission with his face bloody from all of the little cuts on his face. When they got down, he was taken to the infirmary and treated quickly. He got some stitches on two, and then was sent back to dinner.

The next day, the doctor told Flying Officer Murray that Peter should not go up because he might tear his stitches. Peter had no idea how that could happen if they were on his face, but decided not to argue. Since he was grounded, he thought he would be sent back to class, but he was not. Instead, he was thoroughly disappointed to find out that his classes were being "canceled" until the overseas "situation" was resolved to a more "stable" environment. Peter had thought that he had been conned. He felt that he would be stuck in the gun turret forever now.

A few days later, his stitches were removed and replaced with bandages. They became so annoying however, that he took them off during breakfast. When they were boarding the plane, the doctor saw him, and would have thrown a fit if it had been any other time. Peter found himself enjoying the harassment of the officers by now. Everyone in his crew had rank over him, but he was also one of the oldest. They teased him about it, but he could only tease them right back. He was now a part of the crew, and even though he had only been in battle with them for a week, he could feel that he was one of them. They knew it too.

There was Flying Officer Murray, who Peter already knew rather well since he was always taking care of his plane. Murray had the nickname "Skip" amongst his men. The others Peter knew mostly by sight, but he had rarely spoken to them. There was the co-pilot Pilot Officer Thom "Tommy" Radcliffe. The navigator was Flight Sergeant Edmund "Scouser" Truce. The wireless operator was Chief Technician Weston "Ash" Wood. Then there was Flight Sergeant Jarod "Davy" Davis, the bomb aimer. Someone tried to call him "Jarry" once, but rumor was that he had him sorted out over lunch break. Lastly, there were two other gunners: Sergeant Jackson "Jackie" Wilks, who was the top gunner; and Sergeant Jon "Hatter" Sherwin, the front gunner.

They were all decent men, and Peter got along with each of them. Once they learned that he and Matthews had been good friends, they were friendlier towards him. They threw around several nicknames for him, including "Owl", a name often thrown around to describe a thief. Then, the name "Bow-Bell came around. But the calls against him for being a Cockney had grown old at the base, so that name was forgotten. What they finally settled on was "Gaffer". Peter originally disliked it, since they teased him about being older. However, this name stuck, and he soon got used to it. Corporal Newkirk was only used as protocol. He was now Gaffer, and as funny as it seemed to him, he kind of liked the idea that he had a nickname. It meant it was actually a part of the crew.

But he had not forgotten the friends he had on the ground. Keeping to his word, he spent as much free time as he had (meal times) with Sergeant Dales and his crew. They still brought their torn clothes to him to mend, which only gave his new crew something to back up their new name for him. But he was not fazed. He enjoyed helping the younger men, and lightening their moods. His friends on the ground wanted to hear all about his schooling and the battles. All he ever told them was that school was as boring as it was when he was twelve, and that battle was both exciting and scary. After one week in the air, he had two kills of Messerschmitts and never thought twice about who he had strafed on the ground when given the chance.

Things in France were getting worse every day. Now, on his fourteenth day in the air, they were still keeping the Nazis at bay while Dunkirk was being evacuated. The Nazis were advancing everywhere else though, while the British and French were backed up against the coast. Since they were pinned down, there was almost no one to retaliate against the Nazis. It was almost as if they were strolling through France now.

On that fourteenth day, when Peter had boarded the plane with the doctor glaring at him, it was also the seventh day of the evacuations at Dunkirk. As of now, the bombers were going over to just bomb as much of the Panzer divisions as they could. The RAF fighters continued to duel with the Luftwaffe. Peter could not even see the ground because the fog was so dense. He had no idea how low or high they were, but every time they were jolted when struck, he was sure they were going down. The air was felt crowded that day, too.

They had left the base at ten, and arrived over Dunkirk around noon. Before they went over land, and there were some breaks in the clouds, they could see the hundreds of ships along the shoreline, and the winding lines of the evacuees. Then, over land, they saw more soldiers everywhere. Some were walking, others lying or sitting, and further inland, others making their way to the coast, leaving the fields open for the advancing Nazis. But Peter could not blame anyone for leaving the fields for the coast. If you wanted to survive that would be the place to go. Otherwise, the woods and fields were crawling with Nazis. They were advancing at a crawl by now, as if they were toying with the Allies. Seeing their forces from above, Peter was sure that the Nazis could squash the Allies like a bug anytime they wanted.

They did not hit any resistance until they were about ten miles inland. They saw Messerschmitts first, but then were diving below the clouds to make their bombing runs. The ack-ack batteries came to life. They kept flying straight on, though, depleting their load of bombs before swooping up and turning their nose west. Now, they had to get back to the coast. But as they were swooping up, the plane jolted terribly, and there was an explosion. Peter knew immediately that they had been hit.

"That's our left wing," cried Jackie.

The radio crackled. There were more sounds of the ack-ack batteries, and then a scream.

"That was Hatter!"

Peter grimaced when he heard the Skip radio that. He had a nasty feeling about what had just happened.

The plane started going down, the terrible sensation of falling that comes over one's stomach, penetrating the airmen's senses.

"Sir, we need to abort!" Scouser's voice was adamant.

"There's no time! We're too close to the ground!" Skip desperately tried to keep the plane up, or at least from not making a nose dive.

There was the sound of glass shattering.

"Tommy!"

Skip's petrified scream echoed nearly shattered the men's earpieces. And the plane continued to spiral down. Peter swallowed. They were going to have to make a crash landing. He knew he would probably not survive it in the gun turret, so he climbed out quickly.

Just as he was doing so, there was another burst of ack-ack guns, and the canopy exploded with glass. Skip slumped over. Davy saw this, and abandoned his post to conclude that Skip was dead. When he turned, he saw Ash calling over the radio to the other planes telling them that they were making a crash landing.

"They're both dead," cried Davy, pointing to the pilots.

Peter was closest to the hatch that opened up near the tail, the only door in the bomber. He knew they needed to parachute out if they had no pilots. But as reached for the door, his finger tips grazing it, there was a jolt, as the plane came into contact with something. Then, there was another, and Peter slammed his head into the ceiling. That knocked him off his feet, and the sensation of falling engulfed him. He heard someone shout, but closed his eyes, knowing this was it. He felt someone grab his leg.

Then, he felt nothing.

()()()()()()

There was no end in sight to it all. It would all be there. The blood…the tears…the endless bombing…the gunfire…the screams. He was sure that it would never end. Even when he slept, he could hear and see it all. He was being tormented by it. This was torture. Forget what Germans might do to you for information; the ceaseless battles were enough to make him go mad.

Louis hated it. There was never rest, no moment of tranquility, even in the moments where there was no fighting. During those times, his mind was still racing. His mind was still coping. And in the moments where sleep came, he was plagued with nightmares. But the nightmares were real. He dreamt of the dead, and then woke up to kill, or see his comrades kill, or for them to be killed, and always waiting for the bullet that was meant for him. Louis knew that war was not for him.

However, he could never turn away from a fight. He could never turn away from the duty he believed he owed to his country and his fellow people that could not fight. But even closer to him was that he could never turn away from his comrades, who had become his brothers-in-arms. That would be the most traitorous thing he could do, he believed.

Jean was a blessing to Louis. They remained close to one another, and watched out for one another. They also remained close to their platoon. But the first day in battle, their platoon lost one man: Anstel. The first day of fighting was a shocking blow to Louis. He felt that no matter how much he trained and fought, he would never be able to really deal with the mentality of seeing men die every day; especially since he had grown close to so many of them. Jean however, was quite different about it all compared to Louis.

He disliked it, yes, but when the time came, he took the battle on with a cry. Louis was silent. And afterwards, Jean talked constantly, and cracked jokes, laughing over their next meal. Louis would get sick if he thought of the wrong thing while eating. But all of this Louis was grateful for, because Jean was the other side of him that he could not get out. And to Jean, Louis was a reality check at times. To Jean, Louis was the mature one who he envied for taking everything in stride. Louis thought the same of Jean. So, it worked out, because each knew he needed the other. They stuck close, as if the thought they looked away for too long, they would turn around, and find that their other half was no longer there.

On May 25th, five days into the fighting, their company was cut off from the rest of the regiment, and pushed west. They were still a good deal away from the coast, but they knew what was going on in other parts of the battle. They joined up with other companies and units cut off, and were able to hold a line for the following day and night of May 26th. They were keeping a thin line through forests and some farmlands. There were a few small towns where the civilians helped how they could or fled, knowing that battle was coming their way. Then, on May 27th, before sunrise, the Nazis ploughed through the French's poorly held line.

As the Nazis came in force with Panzers and outnumbering infantrymen, it was clear that it would be a blood-bath and a loss of ground. No matter how valiantly the French fought, there was nothing they could do against the overwhelming Nazis. There was simply and plainly just too many of them with far outstanding equipment at their disposal. Finally, when the call for the retreat further west came, they shamelessly turned their backs to the battle.

But the retreat was greatly unorganized, and units got scattered and torn apart. No one knew exactly where the safe haven was. In some areas, the Nazis had pushed further in, or had cut off an escape route, so that French soldiers found themselves running straight into the enemy's hands. Now, Louis, Jean, and Etienne had somehow stuck together but were separated from everyone else by nightfall on May 27th. They had been on a north-westerly course, although they had not known it at the time. They were also running towards the more terrible spots of battle. However, since that night, they found some respite, as they huddled in the brush, listening for anyone nearby.

Around midnight, they stopped so that each of them could get a few hours sleep. They moved on afterwards, a bit more rested. They started heading west, because they knew that the coast lay there, and less Nazis lay there. However, they were very wary of their surroundings. They had no idea if they were behind lines or not. And they would prefer to not meet another living soul until they reached their own men. They came to the edge of the woods, and found themselves looking out on flat fields of farmland, broken up by some small roads. The grass was tall, though, and they could see the next line of trees ahead about four hundred yards away. They would take their chances.

They went out in single file, crawling through the grass slowly and as quietly as possible. The soft ground muffled their hands and knees. Then, they heard some soft voices ahead. So, they stopped, and lay flat and still. Jean nodded to them, recognizing that the voices were German. They tried to breathe as quietly as possible, but every sound they made, no matter how soft, sounded so loud to them. Their adrenaline was pumping at its maximum. Louis was ready to jump up at a half-moment's notice.

For how long they had laid there, they did not know. Minutes seemed like hours. After some time, Louis looked up and saw that the stars had moved. Another hour passed, and the voices were still there. They got louder as the first rays of light peeked over from the east. Louis, Jean, and Etienne were still lying flat. Louis could feel that his hand was asleep from being underneath his gun for so long. He slowly rolled his rifle over and flexed his fingers. Jean craned his neck some, and the freed join cracked loudly.

The voices paused for a moment. Then, they resumed, perhaps thinking the noise had come from one of their own. Suddenly, they were louder, and movement was easily heard. Louis almost passed out when he saw a Nazi soldier stand up, not ten feet away from him. But he wasn't the only one. Ten Nazis stood up, stretching and yawning. Louis, Jean, and Etienne were frozen. One of them looked over their way, and locked eyes with Louis.

"Run," cried Louis. He fired two shots, hitting the Nazi directly in the chest. Jean and Etienne fired as well, and two more unsuspecting Nazis fell. The other Germans, not entirely sure what was going on, hit the deck.

Louis jumped up and started running for the cover of the woods, Etienne and Jean right beside him. They fired shots as they went, hoping to keep the Nazis' heads down. But some returning fire came, and they found themselves crouching low in the field, praying the bullets missed them. But it was not to be so. Etienne cried out as he was hit in the shoulder and stumbled to the ground. Louis skidded to a halt and turned around. He was frozen in place as he looked down at Etienne, who was groaning on the ground. Jean turned and grabbed Louis's collar, and yanked him into the cover of the trees. They stopped there and started firing back at the Nazis in the field. Most of the Nazis were still on the ground, but now that they were unseen, it was more difficult for Jean and Louis to get a clear shot at them.

Jean signaled Louis. "Cover me," he cried.

Louis nodded. He made sure his rifle was loaded to the max and then signaled Jean. Jean took a deep breath and then ran out. Louis turned out at the same moment, and shot fire after fire to the Nazis, hoping to keep their heads and guns down long enough for Jean to get to Etienne. Etienne was only about ten yards away, and stumbling up as Jean got to him. Jean grabbed his arm roughly and pulled. Etienne jumped to his feet, but no sooner did he do that, did Jean jerk and fall to the ground. When he fell, Louis clearly saw that one side of Jean's face was nearly gone. Jean was dead.

Louis was so shocked, he stopped firing. There, lying before him was his best friend. The friend who he had grown up with, from doing work at the farms in their little hometown, getting into mischief from school to church, double dating girls together, working in Paris together, signing into the service together, and now it was over. One bullet, and there was no more _together_.

He came back to the present as one bullet struck the tree beside him. He suddenly remembered the situation. With a sudden energy and fire he had not previously felt, he started firing back at the Nazis. His only care at that moment was to kill as many as he could. The Nazis must have realized they had the advantage, and started standing up and firing at Louis. Louis hardly batted an eye. He just kept firing away, standing up as tall as he could, as if daring the enemy to take a shot at him. And they did. But what would destroy Louis more than a bullet and just as much as losing Jean, was that while he continued to fire at the Nazis, in his lust for bloodshed, Etienne was taken out by another bullet. The younger man hit the ground and lay still as well.

Louis cried out, shot twice more, then turned, and ran.


	4. Dunkirk: Part Two

**Chapter Four: Dunkirk: Part Two**

May 28, 1940

Louis was running like he had never run before. He had not even run this fast when they were retreating two days earlier. That was because he was running from something more terrible than being killed. In his mind, being alone in this dark world was the most terrifying thing. What was worse, he thought that he had killed them. He had let them die. _Louis could still see Jean's bloody face._

There was no purpose to him running except to put as much distance between himself and the tragedy. He was oblivious to anything else and it was a miracle that he was not running straight into the enemy. He was so oblivious that he did not even notice that he had tears streaming down his face. He tripped many times, but just kept plowing on. He was still gripping his rifle tightly but that was only because he had been holding it so tightly when he had turned and ran. He heard shots fired, heard planes, heard tanks, and heard people. But he just kept running. And then, from seemingly out of nowhere, a man, much larger than him, tackled him from the side. Louis was finally stopped.

His mind was so far away, he did not really take into account that he had just been practically bowled over by someone he did not know. Louis just laid there spread-eagle on the ground, looking up at the sky. He was breathing heavily, and his heart was pounding inside his head so hard he couldn't hear. His vision was blurry as he stared up at the tree tops. He closed his eyes, trying to settle himself. There was another sound out there that he could not make, but when he opened his eyes again, there were three people looking down at him. One of them was talking.

"—I have no idea what you were doing but it was a good thing we caught you. You were going to run right into a whole battalion of them. But we should get going now. We need to get back to the town before the Nazis come through."

Louis started to sit up, and the three men each took a step back.

"You are a small soldier."

Louis looked up the man who had spoken. The man held out his hand.

"I am Michel," he said. "We are partisans."

Louis took hold of the man's outstretched hand and pulled himself up. He swayed some, but Michel steadied him with a strong hand on his shoulder. Michel was both tall and strong, even towering over the other two men.

"Are you okay," asked another man.

Louis nodded. "Did you say we needed to leave here?"

Michel nodded. "And quickly. We do not know how fast the Nazis are coming. Our town is not too far from here."

Louis nodded and picked up his rifle. "I will go with you."

The three men exchanged uneasy looks, but Michel nodded. "We will hide you for a time. Let's go."

The other two men led the way, and Louis followed them, with Michel picking up the rear. Louis did not know why he had so quickly trusted these men, but his mind was still replaying the scene from daybreak, over and over again in his head. He just followed the two partisans in front of him, doing what they told him, and not speaking a word. After about fifteen minutes, they came to a small farming village. There were only a few streets to it, and it reminded Louis of his home town. There were people walking about, but it was in a solemn and quick manner, as if they were afraid to be out in the streets.

Louis, Michel, and the other two partisans approached the town from behind what looked like a livery stable. They crept in through the back, and Louis realized that the partisans knew their way around here. When they were inside, they crouched down inside an empty stall. One of the partisans went quickly to the front door, and peered out. He then signaled them to come.

"It is okay," he said. "The town has not been occupied yet."

"Good," said Michel. "Let's go."

They walked out of the stable openly, though the three partisans surrounded Louis. He realized that he was most likely one of the few soldiers in the town. They brought him across the street to a little bed and breakfast hotel. Louis saw some people looking at him, and at first was worried that they did not want him there. But then he saw the church on the corner, with a French flag hanging above the doorway. He knew he was welcomed.

Once they stepped inside the bed and breakfast, a little boy came from the side, jumping into Michel's arms.

"Papa," he cried. He kissed his father on the cheek.

Michel kissed the little boy back and set him down.

"Go get Mama," he said. The little boy nodded and ran up the stairs. Michel took Louis by the arm and brought him into the kitchen. There was a table, and the four sat down.

"We will keep you here for today, and wait until the Nazis stop moving," said Michel. "Then, we will help you get to the coast."

Louis nodded. "_Merci beaucoup. _I am sorry I have caused you trouble."

"_Non_," said one of the partisans. "You are no trouble. We want to help our soldiers continue to fight. Many of the British and French soldiers are at Dunkirk, under siege. But the Nazis are spread out, and it easy to get the coast if you pick your way carefully. My name is Gregoir, by the way, and this Bernard." He gestured to the other partisan. "The three of us live in this town, and have been helping French and British soldiers get out of the area. But the Nazis have been advancing quickly and it looks like they will finally take this town."

"Will you fight," asked Louis.

"_Non_," said Michel. "We know that it is no use. There is no cause for more bloodshed. Besides, we have faith that our soldiers will come back with the British, and we will be liberated one day."

"_Oui_," said Louis. "My name is Corporal Louis LeBeau. I am from outside Paris."

"You are a long way from home," said Bernard.

"If I were close," said Louis. "I would shed this uniform and join the partisans of my area. I do not want to leave France."

"But you must," said Michel. "The more French soldiers who get free, the more who can come back later and liberate us. France's government may fall, but her spirit which lies with the people will not."

"Do you mind me asking what happened to you," asked Bernard.

"Bernard," reprimanded Gregoir. "That is for himself."

"_Non_," said Louis, with a wave of his hand. "_C'est bon_. Our unit was scattered in the retreat. I was with two others. We were headed to the coast, when we came upon some Nazis. We had to make a run for it. My friends…they did not make it. I do not know why I kept running. I am coward I suppose."

"No man in our army is a coward," said Michel, his voice full of pride. "If you had stopped running, you would have been killed."

"Perhaps," said Louis.

Just then, the little boy came back in, with his mother in tow. She was a beautiful lady with long blonde hair pulled into a tight bun. Her apron was hanging around her waist, and Louis noticed some blood smeared onto it. She kissed Michel quickly.

"I am so glad you are back," she said. "The British soldier you brought in last night, he did not make it. Henri and Raul are taking him outside to bury him with the others."

Gregoir scoffed. "He was weak anyway."

Michel scowled. "Do not speak of them like that. He was wounded badly." He looked back to his wife. "Do not worry. We did all we could. Right now, we could use some food. We have a guest, as you can see. This is Corporal Louis LeBeau. He was split from his unit. We will be taking him out tonight."

Michel's wife smiled to him, and then looked down at the little boy. "Remy, go get some milk."

"_Oui, Mama,_" he said, and he scampered off.

Louis watched him go with a small smile. He looked to Michel's wife. "Is there a place I could wash up some, _Madame…_"

"You can just call me Annette," said Michel's wife. "And you may wash in _le salle de bain_. It is across from the stairs."

"_Merci_," said Louis. He got up from the table and left the kitchen. Directly in front of him was the stair case. And coming down the staircase were two men, carrying a stretcher. On the stretcher was a young man in a British Infantry uniform. His jacket as bloody over the chest, but they had made him as presentable as they could. Louis went to the door and opened it for them. They continued out solemnly.

In the bathroom, Louis threw up everything that was left in his stomach. It was not very much due to the fact that he had not had much to eat the past couple of days. He did not think he was vomiting because he was physically sick. But he was now sick _of_ the blood he continued to see. The image of Jean lying on the ground, his handsome face so torn up…he retched again.

Afterwards, he tried to refresh himself by splashing cold water on his face, and thoroughly scrubbing his hands and arms. When he went back into the kitchen, the three partisans were seated at the table still, with mugs in their hands. Annette was at the stove preparing _le déjeuner_. Louis sat back down, a shade paler. Bernard pushed a warm mug into his fingers. Louis absently took a long gulp. He blinked at the fiery sensation that went down his throat, but otherwise he was expressionless. Across from him, little Remy had sat down with a large mug of milk. He imitated Louis drinking, ending up with a large milk mustache, and grinned sheepishly.

"Wipe your mouth Remy," said Michel.

Louis smiled when the little boy wiped his mouth on his own sleeve.

"Are you okay," asked Bernard.

Louis nodded. "These past few days have just been tiring."

They nodded with agreement.

"I am five," said Remy, happily, not sensing the comber tone. "Yesterday was my birthday. It was the first time Mama would not let me have friends over for my birthday. She says that the fireworks are enough."

"The fireworks," asked Louis, slightly confused. He looked at Michel, who whistled like a bomb coming down. He winked at Louis. "Oh, _oui_, fireworks are more than enough. Besides, you got to spend time with your family, _non_?"

"Well, I did," said Remy. "But then Mr. Raul interrupted our cake dinner. He said that someone as coming over. Mama told me that the man was coming to celebrate my birthday too. But guess what he was doing the whole time?"

"What," asked Louis, faking apprehension.

"Sleeping," pouted Remy.

Louis gasped, dramatically indignant. But inside he saw the British Infantryman lying dead on the stretcher.

"And then Papa had to leave," Remy went on. "But he brought back you. Are you going to celebrate my birthday too? The fireworks will begin soon, but they are never good until night. You can't see them during the day, but you can hear them. And sometimes we even see _les avions_ flying over. I have never seen so many. They drop fireworks too, but always in the fields. I'm not allowed to go into the fields anymore. I might get hit by the fireworks."

Louis saw inside again an image of his unit running through a field, tank shells hitting all around them.

"Have you ever seen fireworks," asked Remy.

Louis nodded. "Many times."

"That is enough talking now Remy," said Annette. "How about you escort Mr. Gregoir and Mr. Bernard home? Their families will want to see them." She gave the other two men a look that only a wife can give. They both got up, saying good-bye to everyone. Remy grabbed both their hands and walked them out the door.

"You have a lovely boy," said Louis.

"I am sorry he talked so much," said Annette.

"Do not worry," said Louis. "It was good for me to hear an innocent voice again."

"Have you been away from home long," asked Michel.

"_Non_," answered Louis. "Actually, I have not. It seems much longer, but it has only been eight days."

"That isn't long at all," said Michel. "If this were a normal eight days. But eight days in battle…that is long. It is good that you will be able to rest here."

"_Oui_," said Louis. "And I will forever be in your debt."

"Do not worry," said Annette. She brought over some bowls of steaming beef broth and some bread. "What are countrymen who do not take care of one another? I apologize that I cannot give you much of a variety, but ever since the attacks, food has become scarce."

Louis shook his head fervently. "_S'il vous plaît,_ do not say such a thing. This is more than enough." He took a large spoonful of the broth and smiled at marguerite. "And it is so good as well. _Mon oncle _has a restaurant in Paris, and I do not think he could have made a better broth."

"You flatter me, Corporal," said Annette, returning to the stove.

"_S'il vous plaît_, call me Louis," responded Louis. He continued to eat and drink with Michel. The kitchen was silent and peaceful, something Louis had been longing for days. But suddenly, it was shattered when Remy burst through the back door and leapt into his mama's arms.

"Mama," he cried. "Mama, there is a big car coming down the street, and there are men, and—"

He was interrupted when Bernard ran back in. "They're here."

()()()()()()

The townspeople gathered out on the main street, as did farmers who were further out. They huddled together, holding one another. Some people were crying. Others were angry. Others were staring passively. The receivers of these looks were the soldiers of a Nazi Panzer Division that was coming through the town in a full display of force. The soldier's boots clinked against the cobble roads. In the first tank, a man obviously of rank, was standing up, his head and shoulders out of the hatch. He was surveying the town and the people with an arrogant and confident expression. He held up his hand, and the procession stopped in front of the church.

The officer climbed down from his tank and came to stand in front of two men: the mayor and the priest.

"This town and the neighboring farms are now under the control of the Third Reich," said the officer in fluent French. "To ensure that no unnecessary civilian blood is spilt I will ask your people only once to give up any arms they may have, and to turn over any British or French soldiers they may be hiding. If any soldier is found being harbored in a home later on, their home will be torched and the head of the family will be executed. Do I make myself clear?"

The mayor and priest nodded. "You do," said the mayor.

"And you Father," said the officer. "You must remove that flag from your church, and replace it with this." A soldier walked over with a folded Nazi flag. The officer held it out to the priest.

But the priest shook his head. "_Non_. I will not do as you say."

"Excuse me," said the officer. "You can no longer refuse anyone, Father. You must replace your flag. This town is no longer a French town. It is now under the rule of the German Third Reich."

But the priest shook his head again. "I will not remove the French flag, which stands for what I believe in, and replace it with a flag that stands for things that make me sick." He spoke the last phrase as if he was spitting up poisonous acids.

The officer's nostril's flared. He handed pulled out his pistol. The crowd gasped in unison, and the soldiers raised their rifles up in case of a revolt. The officer put his pistol to the priest's head.

"I will only tell you once more, Father," said the officer. "Replace the flag or you will be shot and your church will be burned. Do you want me to burn a house of God?"

The priest took a deep breath and replied calmly. "Hanging your flag over our house of God would be just as bad as burning it. It would be sinful. And the Lord Christ says that should your hand make you sin, cut it off. I will cut away this building so that my people are not sinful in praying beneath that flag. You may kill me now, officer, because I will never recognize the authority of such terrible things."

The town was quiet. The only sound was the constant shelling in the background. The silence was suddenly snapped with the crack of the pistol. The priest fell to the ground beside the mayor.

"_Verbrennen Sie die Kirche_," said the officer, as he put his pistol back into its holster. "_Suchen Sie die Stadt. Wenn irgendeine Brite oder französische Soldaten gefunden sind, schießen Sie sie, und verbrennen Sie das Haus._" (1)

The soldiers began to move around quickly, pushing people out of the way, and barging into the houses and businesses. They began to tear up each place. Some of the townspeople tried to resist but were roughly moved aside. Families huddled together out of fear. More people began to sob as the church was engulfed in flames. The French flag that hung alongside the crucifix went up quickly, disappearing in smoke and ashes. The officer watched it go, with a slight smile. As soon as it did, he gave the order for the swastika to be hung up around the town.

Off in the distance, Louis, Michel, Bernard and Gregoir looked back at the town. They could see the church burning.

"_Les dégoûtants,_" spat Gregoir. "How could the burn a church?"

"Hurry," said Michel. "We must get to the next town quickly."

The four started running again, headed for the coast.

()()()()()()

May 29, 1940

"Quickly, they are gone," the old farmer whispered.

Louis followed Michel out the barn door, and into the woods, Gregoir and Bernard right behind. They each thanked the farmer silently and disappeared into the darkness. They had been moving almost non-stop since their narrow escape from the village. It was now late at night. Their path towards the coast was now overrun by Nazis, and most of the towns and villages along the way were now occupied. But the Nazis were still spread somewhat thin over the spacious region. The local people could still get around secretly if they were careful enough. They were now just two days away from the coast, and were planning on making a long leg of their journey with the remainder of darkness.

It was a lot of countryside from there on. There were still spots of trees, though, that were good cover to pick through. They had a target town that they hoped to get to about mid-morning. Fortunately, they did not run into too much trouble. They had to dodge patrols, and Nazi camps, but they were still able to make good progress. At dawn, they took a break in a shopkeeper's cellar. The town was supposedly occupied, but only a few police had been left, as the troops had moved on.

The townspeople were more than eager to help soldiers get to the coast. It was decided that morning that a new guide would take Louis to the coast. Michel, Bernard, and Gregoir would head back to their own town, in hopes of finding their family well, and their homes and businesses in working order.

Then, the dog fight came.

It was a little after noon on May 31. Michel, Gregoir, and Bernard were preparing to start their journey back to their village. Around the occupied town, numerous small battles were going on. Above, British bombers began to come in with their escorts, bombing the countryside to try and stall the Nazis movements. The people in the town listened from their cellars, but some insisted on watching. Anti-aircraft guns began to sound off from the Nazis, taking out British fighters and bombers. With the arrival of Messerschmitts, more British aircraft fell.

Louis, Michel, Bernard, and Gregoir were watching from the side of a barn. As they watched they were checking their weapons. They were about to go out into the field and help as many downed airman get to safety as they could. Suddenly, a deafening explosion was heard directly above them. They looked up, covering their heads from the debris. A bomber had been struck underneath, now plummeting to the ground. It crashed in a patch of woods not to farm from them.

"Hurry," said Michel. "Let us go see if there are any survivors."

()()()()()()

Someone was screaming. And they wouldn't stop. They would start moaning, and then scream again, and then moan again, and cry out, and start screaming again. They were screaming for their mum, help, their dog, their home, for God, even though they were damning Him through impotent streams of curses.

Peter wanted them to stop. His head was hurting too much. He was too uncomfortable to have screams echoing in his ear. His arm felt like it was melting. He wanted whoever was screaming to stop.

There was a bang, and the screams stopped.

Peter welcomed the silence.

He could not see, but he was okay with the darkness. He felt like he was suffocating, though, and struggled to move. But something was pressed against him, as if telling him to stay there, so he held his breath and did.

There was another bang, which startled him, but he did not move, because he was still pinned down. He did not know how long he lay there, because time was irrelevant, and he could not feel it. He thought he might have drifted off back to sleep, and then woke up again.

Then: "C'mon Gaffer, wake up."

_ Gaffer? Who the hell was Gaffer?_

Someone was patting his cheek lightly, but in an annoying way.

"Gaffer, you need to get up. Jerry'll get you if you don't."

_ So he was Gaffer. That was interesting._

Whatever was pressed up against him was moved, and he took a deep breath, which sent him into a coughing fit.

"That's Gaffer. C'mon Ash, let's get him out of the plane."

They tugged on his arms, and he was dragged out. There was a horrible stench…gasoline, burning metal, burning rubber…were they at the base? Great, he was sleeping and planes needed to be fixed. He forced his eyes open and tried to sit up urgently.

"Whoa there," said someone. "Not too fast."

Peter's vision adjusted to what was around him. In front of him, Ash and Scouser were kneeling, looking at him questioningly. Behind them were the mangled remains of their bomber. There was a small fire in the cockpit, but that was all.

"You okay, Gaffer," asked Scouser.

Peter nodded. It was all coming back to him now. In fact, the past two weeks were coming back to him. He remembered being called Gaffer now.

"Is this it," he asked.

"Yea," said Scouser, standing up. "Some Jerries came by, looking for anyone not dead yet. Ash and I were hiding near the fire. I thought they'd never leave. But Davy was hurt bad. His leg was almost severed off completely. He was making a lot of noise. Jerry just shot him between the eyes.

Peter frowned, thinking of the screams ending so abruptly. "Who else?"

"They shot Jackie, but I think that was out of spite," said Scouser. "I think he was already dead. And Skip and Tommy, they died in the plane, ya know. Hatter did as well."

Peter nodded. Ash helped him up. Something warm dripped down his face. He touched his temple and winced. His fingers came away wet with fresh blood. His chest and right shoulder hurt as well. Scouser was hobbling around, his left leg apparently bothering him. Ash's left arm was bloody, and Peter saw that his wrist was slightly deformed and swelling badly.

"I guess we ought to get goin'," said Peter. "I think our guys were 'eaded to the coast."

Ash nodded. "But we're behind lines now. Best take it carefully."

They had not taken more than one step, when there was a shot, and Ash hit the ground, clutching his neck.

"Ash," cried Scouser.

He and Peter hit the ground as well, and belly crawled to Ash. Blood was pouring through his fingers. Scouser started to put some pressure on the fatal wound, but Ash went still moments later. Peter and Scouser stared at Ash in shock for a moment. Then, more bullets showered around them, snapping Peter out of his frozen state of mind. He grabbed Scouser's sleeve, and started crawling through the brush, away from where the bullets were coming. About ten yards away, the bullets came in less, so Peter jumped up and ran for it. Scouser was right behind him. A few moments later, more bullets were whizzing by them, striking trees and the ground around them. They could hear the foreign voices behind them.

And then, the voices were in front of them. Peter started to stop, when suddenly, a smaller soldier stepped out in front of him. They smacked into each other, and both fell to the ground. The smaller soldier jumped up, looked directly at Peter, and then rolled behind a tree for cover. Peter's eyes were wide, believing he had just run into the enemy.

A bullet hit the ground next to him, and he rolled off and started crawling the other way. He kept staying down as more bullets sprayed around him. Then, he came to the end of the trees, and at the beginning of a field. There was a ditch right in front of him. Exhausted, he slipped down into it, crouched down warily. For a moment, he was still, breathing hard. Then, a wave of dizziness and exhaustion came over him. He let himself fall back, and his back hit the side of the ditch. Looking directly up, he could see the nice, blue sky dotted with clouds, and swarming with planes. Around him, he could hear the ground battles, the explosions.

Peter wanted it all to end. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his sister, dear ole Mavis. He wanted to go back to that shabby ole apartment he'd been in since birth and just sleep. He wanted a lot of things, and knowing he could not have them, he hoped he could find some peace in sleep. He closed his eyes, his last thoughts in consciousness being that he hoped no one would disturb him.

()()()()()()

The last shots were fired and then there was silence—at least in this section of the woods. Louis stepped out from behind the tree he had taken to for cover. He was nearly out of ammo, and was glad that the skirmish as over before he had emptied his small supply. Not far from him was Michel. He nodded to the other man, and the cautiously stepped out, their rifles at the ready in case there were any Nazis left. Bernard and Gregoir walked on over.

"We found the body of one of the airmen," said Bernard. "He was dead. Shot in the back."

Michel sighed wearily. "Let's go check the plane."

They walked warily towards the plane. They found nothing good. A few paces away from the bomber was an airman's body, shot in the neck. Closer to the plane, there were others: two with bullets in between their eyes; the two pilots' corpses could vaguely be seen burning in the fire that engulfed the cockpit; another man laid half in and half out of a gun turret.

"There were two that ran," said Louis. "We should look for the other one."

"He is probably still running," said Gregoir with a smirk. "You should have seen his face when he ran into you. I think he thought you were a German."

Gregoir chuckled some, but Michel's glare stopped him. Louis swallowed; in his mind's eye he saw the terrified look on the airman's face, and the blood that had been dripping from his forehead.

"_Non_," said Michel. "We should find him. Which way did he run?"

"Towards the town," said Louis.

"Maybe he made it there," offered Bernard hopefully.

"Maybe," said Michel. "Come."

They headed out the woods, and came upon the ditch. Louis was the first to spot the blue airman lying in the ditch.

"_Mon Dieu_," he cried. The others looked over.

"Is he dead," asked Bernard.

Louis dropped down into the ditch. He could easily see the Briton breathing. "_Non_. He must have passed out."

"Bernard, Gregoir," said Michel. "Pick him up. We will bring him to the town. _Le médecin_ will look at him." (2)

Gregoir reluctantly complied. Louis watched the partisan closely. He had no idea why Gregoir was acting so ill towards the airman. Sure, he was British, and Louis was not all too sure about him either. But he was a soldier and ally. Like Bernard had said earlier to Louis: every man they got out was another man that could help liberate France in the future.

They pulled the Briton out of the ditch, and then set out back to the town. Once there, they were glad to find that the Nazis had not passed through just yet to take complete control of the citizens. They were able to get the Briton to the local doctor. Louis remained to keep watch outside the doctor's house, while Michel, Bernard, and Gregoir left to go seek out more downed airmen. About an hour later, the doctor came out saying that he had given the Briton some stitches and he was now awake.

Louis went upstairs to find the Briton sitting in a chair. His head was wrapped as well as his right wrist. He was bent over, his head in his hands, and looked very tired.

"_C'est bon voir tu éveillé_," said Louis as he stepped into the room. The Briton's head shot up in surprise. Louis smiled slightly. "_J'étais de partir tu ici._"(3)

All he got was a blank stare from the Briton. Louis realized his error.

"_Ah, pardon moi_," he said. "I suppose you do not speak French."

The Briton shook his head. "Sorry," he said softly.

"It is not a problem," replied Louis. "I know English."

"Obviously," said the Briton.

Louis scowled. "Well, we will be travelling together," he said. "I guess I will be your translator."

"I guess so," replied the Briton. "Where are we goin'?"

"The coast," answered Louis. "Dunkirk. They say that the soldiers are evacuating there."

"When are we goin' t'leave," asked the Briton.

"We will wait for some partisans to get back," said Louis. "If they do not return in time, then a guide from this town will take us right at sundown."

"Sounds good," said the Briton.

"I am Corporal Louis LeBeau, by the way," said Louis, walking over to the Briton and holding out his hand.

The Briton stood up. "I'm Corporal Peter Newkirk." They shook hands.

"You 'ave a funny accent, Corporal," said Louis.

"You do too," retorted Peter.

"I am French," replied Louis, as if that were the answer to everything.

"Well, I'm English," replied Peter.

"You do not sound like all the other Englishman I 'ave seen," said Louis.

"Well, all the ruddy Englishmen who come to France are the toffs, mate," answered Peter. "Ya know, rich people. Folks you've got too much money."

"_Et tu_," asked Louis.

"Me," said Peter. "I'm from London East End. Ya know, where the docks an' the trash is kept."

"Oh," said Louis, as if realizing. "You are one of the Cockneys. _Ma sœur,_ she saw one in a picture, and thought your accents were cute." (4)

"Cute," repeated Peter. "Look mate, it's anythin' but cute. Now, 'ow about we drop this an' get some grub?"

"Do you mean food," asked Louis hotly. Oh, he knew that was what the Englishman meant, but he decided to play with him.

And Peter knew it."We mawn-sur."

Louis scowled and turned and left the room. Peter sighed, and followed.

They ate a little meal in silence, sitting across from one another. Peter had his little sandwich down in a minute. He thanked the doctor's wife with a sly grin, making Louis want to punch him. The Frenchman proceeded to eat his sandwich as eloquently as he could, which seemed to be driving Peter up the wall. They appeared complete opposites: Louis was sitting up straight in his chair, eating in small bites and keeping the crumbs in his plate. Peter was sitting back in his chair, fingering his mug, his eyes closed some as if he was about to fall asleep. But he wasn't. He had taken up his you-think-I'm-not-watching-but-I-am look.

But suddenly, all shenanigans stopped when a teenage boy came busting into the room. He spoke rapid French. Louis jumped up, his rifle at the ready.

"Wot," asked Peter, jumping up as well. "Are they 'ere? Jerry?"

Louis nodded. "We will escape out the back. Come."

"Wait," said Peter. "You got any kind o' weapon I can put me 'ands on? All I've got is a knife."

Louis nodded. He tossed a pistol to Peter, who caught it and stuck it in his trousers. He nodded and they ran out the back of the house. They came into a small alley. There were some screams echoing off the buildings.

"You know your way 'round 'ere," asked Peter softly.

"_Non_," said Louis. "I am not from 'ere. But I know 'ow the town is lain out. _Allons._"

The hurried down the alley, and then they went through a door on the opposite side. They came into the back of a house. A woman, an old man, and three children were huddled in the small room. The old man hurried up. He spoke quickly to Louis.

Louis translated for Peter. "'E says that if we can get to the Valères' farm, we will be able to hide there for awhile. When it is dark, someone will take us. The farm is on the west side of town, and the largest. 'E says we cannot miss it."

Peter nodded. "If we can't miss it, then sure as gyp Jerry won't miss it either. Do we 'ave a safe way to get there?" (5)

"We will 'ave to stick with the alleys and 'ouses as much as we can," answered Louis. "That is the safest."

"Nothin' new then," said Peter. He tipped his head to the old man out of thanks and went back out to the alley.

"_Merci_," said Louis quickly, and then left, shutting the door behind him.

They ran down the alley, stopping as it came out onto a side street. They looked both ways quickly, and then dashed across, right into another home. The residents hardly batted an eye, as if they knew that they had been coming. An older man led them through the house, bringing them to the next street. He opened the door slightly, while Peter and Louis kept back for the all clear signal. The man waved his hand.

"Across the street. _Rapidement et bon chance_," he said, pushing them through the door.

The scurried across the street, keeping low, and went into the home directly across from them. In this house, they found no one. They moved quickly through it, climbing through a back window into another alley. Looking down one end of the alley, they could see outside the town, and into fields. On the far side of the field, they could see a barn and a house.

"I bet that's it," said Peter.

"_Moi aussi_," said Louis. "And even if it is not, it is something to 'ide in."

"Right," said Peter. He looked down the alley the other way. "Let's go."

They went quickly down the alley, slowing down a few yards away from the end. They crept up on either side, peeking across and out into the streets as carefully as they could.

"Nothing," said Peter.

"_Oui, même ici,_" responded Louis. Peter gave him a confused look. "Same here."

Then, there was a shout, and they both spun around. On the other side of the alley, they would see Nazi tanks rolling down the next street. People had lined the sides of the street, so it was difficult to tell if any Germans had spotted them. They would not wait to find out, though.

"_Rapidement_," said Louis. "Get across the street and into the ditch and I will cover you."

Peter nodded and after a quick look up and down the empty street he darted across, sliding into the ditch on the other side. He covered the Frenchman as Louis followed seconds later. Keeping low, they followed the ditch until it turned into the field, and then ran across. The high grass prevented anyone from being able to spot them, as long as they remained low. They still felt that they were out in the open, though, and were running as fast as they could. Peter was a bit more presto than Louis, and he turned back once to wait for the smaller man to catch up. This surprised Louis, but neither mentioned a thing. As they neared their destination they slowed down, being mindful of the fact that they were now coming up on another clearing. They climbed out of the ditch and into the grass. They then edged to the end of the grass and as they had done before, covered one another as they ran into the barn.

Inside, the barn was dark. Peter climbed up onto the rafters and peeked out a window cautiously.

"Bloody 'ell," he whispered.

"_Le quel_," asked Louis worriedly.

"These Jerries could've smashed us like we was just roaches," said Peter. "Come 'ere an' see for yourself."

Louis slung his rifle over his shoulder and climbed up into the rafters beside the Englishman. He looked out the window and his jaw dropped. Looking out over the fields that lay even beyond the little town they had left, they saw large companies of infantryman and tanks plowing through. They had completely swept through the town already, and were moving on. The little resistance that was there was easily noticed. There were no signs of French or British soldiers.

"_Mon Dieu_," said Louis. He looked at Peter. "That is the equivalent of your 'bloody 'ell.'"

"Ta mate," said Peter sarcastically.

They both looked back out the window. Nazi flags were flying high. Louis shook his head in disgust. They stood there for a moment, watching the enemy's progression sadly.

"I'm sorry," said Peter suddenly. Louis looked at him oddly. "I can't imagine seein' this in England. I can't imagine those Krauts rollin' through London like this."

"_Ou Paris_," muttered Louis sadly.

"You're from Paris," asked Peter.

"Just outside," answered Louis. "My town looks like that one. And my family 'as a farm like this one."

"Don't worry," said Peter. "It won't last forever."

"_L'Anglais_ will come back, _non_," asked Louis.

"We did last time," said Peter. "I don't see why we shan't do it again. Besides, Britain's freedom is at stake too. About the only advantage we've got is that we're on an island. An' who knows 'ow long that'll make a difference."

"Psst! _Que vous faites_?"

The two soldiers spun around guns dawn. An old man was standing on the barn floor.

"_Monsieur Valère_," asked Louis.

"_Oui_," answered the old man. "_Venez sur. Rapidement. Les allemands sont près._"

Louis quickly climbed down. Peter did not follow right away. Louis snapped at the Englishman. "He says we must go quickly. Les Boches are nearby." Peter jumped off the rafters with a scowl, but they exchanged no more words.

_ Monsieur_ Valère led them to the other side of the barn to a stall. Inside, a mare stood silently. He beckoned the mare out, handing the reins to Peter. Peter held the horse as far away as he could, and shuffled his feet nervously when the horse snorted and tried to sniff him. Louis could not help but smile. Valère brushed some hay aside, revealing a trap door beneath it. He pulled it up, and pointed inside. Louis dropped in. Valère took the horse's reins from Peter, and the Englishman dropped in as well. The hideaway was not even large enough for him to stand up straight in. He crouched down beside Louis and looked up at Valère. The man looked down at them.

"_Tu peut pas parler plus. Je reviendrai quand c'est sûr_." With that, he closed the door, sending them into pitch darkness.

"Wot 'e say?"

"Shh! 'E said that we must be quiet. 'E will come when it is safe."

"Bloody 'ell, that'll be never!"

"Shh!"


	5. The War Is Over For You

**Chapter Five: The War Is Over For You**

June 1, 1940

It had felt like an eternity, being underground. They had both drifted off to a much needed sleep for a time. But they woke up to the sound of the barn being ruthlessly searched. They had waited in frightened silence, each praying with all their might not to be found.

The barn was searched twice, from what Louis and Peter could tell. Both would go as still as stone. They waited to move until they were absolutely sure no one was there. Sometimes they thought a soldier might have lingered in the barn, and was waiting for them to make a mistake. After the first time the barn was searched, neither could go back to sleep. They feared relaxing too much, lest their presence be noticed. Finally, after spending twelve hours in the barn, Valère came back from them early in the morning on June 1.

Peter and Louis squinted as Valère shone a lantern down into their little hole.

"_Venez_," he said. Louis went out first, followed by Peter. He stood up straight and arched his back, groaning as it cracked.

"Damn, I don't believe I've ever sat that long before," said Peter.

"Shh," warned Valère. "_Ils sont pas allés pourtant._"

Louis nodded and whispered the translation back to Peter. "Les Boches are not gone yet."

Peter nodded, with a little grin towards the old man. "So where to now?"

Louis looked back at Valère and asked Peter's question in French. The old man answered back, and Louis did not look satisfied. This started off some heated talking in frantic French whispers. Peter grew disinterested and looked away. He went to the door and curiously peered through a knot hole. It was still dark outside, and he could see the town's lights in the distance. All seemed quiet. Peter looked back at Louis and Valère, who were still arguing. Peter looked back out, and gasped when he saw figures moving out of the tall grass fields and to the barn quickly. He could see that they were holding guns as well. He turned around and grabbed Louis by the arm, and pulled him into a stall. He clamped a hand over Louis's mouth to quiet the protests, and they sunk back into the corner just as they heard the barn door bursting open.

Valère had been startled by Peter's actions, but when the door burst open he tensed and tried to act as normal as possible. The intruders closed the door quickly and turned onto the old man. But Valère smiled and relaxed. He looked at Peter and Louis, and beckoned for them to come out.

Louis pushed Peter off of him. The Englishman threw him a nasty glare, but they walked out of the stall civilly. Louis nearly yelped out of happiness.

"Michel," he exclaimed in a hushed whisper. "You made it!"

Michel, Bernard, and Gregoir were standing right inside the barn, breathing heavily but looking relieved. They smiled when they saw Louis.

"_Oui_," said Michel. "By the hair of our skins. It is good to see you as well. I see our friend is awake."

They looked at Peter, who was cautiously standing beside the stall, as if ready to dive back in if necessary.

"_Oui_," replied Louis. He continued on in English for Peter's sake. "'Is name is Peter Newkirk. Peter, these are the Resistance fighters I was with when we found you."

Peter nodded and held out his hand. "Thanks, I suppose."

Michel shook Peter's hand with a warm smile. "Our pleasure. Now, we just need to get you two to the coast, so that you can escape."

"I thought you were going back to your village," said Louis.

"We were," replied Bernard. "But us sulking around in that direction will make the Nazis suspicious. We were cut off anyway. We'll bring you to the coast, and then turn back when things have settled down. It would not be odd then to explain that we were cut off by the battles from returning home after a trip to the coast to visit some family."

"Conveinent," said Peter.

"Exactly," said Bernard.

Gregoir was rather peeved that the conversation was going on in English and that he could not understand. He tapped Bernard on the shoulder. "_Parlez français. _I do not care about him. I care about me."

Michel started to reprimand Gregoir, but Louis stepped up quickly and pushed Gregoir back. He quickly reprimanded him in their native tongue. "I am tired of your prejudice. He is a soldier just like me. He volunteered and is fighting in this war to help our country. And one day he will come back and liberate France. So you treat him just as well as you would treat any soldier and ally of France. Understand?"

"_Oui_," answered Gregoir. "I understand perfectly."

Louis looked back at Peter, who was looking around to everyone with a confused expression. "I'm sorry. But I'm lost. Mind tellin' me wot's goin' on?"

Louis put on a quick, casual smile. "Do not worry. We were just deciding when to move out."

"Now," said Michel. "The Nazis stopped most of the patrols for the night. We can go now, and hopefully cover some good ground before daybreak. I have directions of where to go next. We can only travel by dark now, though."

"Then let us 'urry," said Louis. "Pierre and I are ready."

"Pierre?" Peter narrowed his eyes at Louis. "Who are you callin' Pierre? I ain't no Frog."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Never mind. Michel?"

"We are ready," said Michel.

Valère nodded and they moved to the other side of the barn. He opened the door quietly and peered out. He then motioned for them to go.

"_Bonne chance,_" Peter heard Valère say. Peter turned around and smiled at the old man before hurrying to catch up with the others.

()()()()()()

June 2, 1940

It was early morning, and the sun's rays were now bright enough to give sly movements away. So Michel, Bernard, Gregoir, Louis and Peter were forced to bed down in a bakery. Michel, Bernard, and Gregoir were allowed to stay up in the house, acting as family, because they were not in uniform. But Peter and Louis were forced down into the basement and out of sight. The town they had crept into had already been occupied, but the rumor was that it was one of the last. They had heard that Dunkirk, a coastal town was under siege, and that the Allies were escaping from there on ships from Britain. The news was heartening to Louis and Peter, knowing that somehow their countrymen had been able to hold out and that there was a definite way to get across the English Channel and out of the clutch of the Nazis.

Plans were made that as soon as night fell, they would work hard to cover the ground overnight. Peter and Louis just hoped that everything went perfectly. Peter was sure he would go crazy if he did not get back to England soon. He knew Mavis must be worried sick about him, and he hoped he could get back just to let others know what had happened, especially to the other men in his crew. He would have been listed MIA by now, meaning that everyone thought he was dead. Peter knew that would hurt Mavis. They were all one another had left.

Louis was also worried about his family. They would, like so many others, be listening for news everyday about the battles. He had never been able to write them, because there had not been a spare moment since he had arrived at the fight. He only hoped that when the fate of France was sealed, they were not harmed. So far, he had seen no reason that his family would be harmed as long as they did not resist the occupation outwardly. Louis hoped that whatever path his family took, they would be so very careful. He wanted to free France and return to his family to find everyone safe and sound.

These hopes and prayers were mostly what kept the two trapped soldiers on the move. They had something to look forward to: Peter to Mavis, and Louis to his family. To Peter the fight was no longer distant. The war was there, and he knew it could spread to Britain. Now, he knew exactly why he was fighting.

It was mid-day when Michel hurried down to warn Peter and Louis that Nazis were nearby. They each went to their pre-planned hiding spots. Louis crammed himself inside a potato barrel, while Newkirk slipped behind a shelf. They went silent again. They could hear nothing above.

Then, they heard the basement door open and heavy boots hit the steps coming down. The Nazis moved around slowly, poking around here and there looking for anything peculiar. But it was a quick search. Soon enough, they heard the heavy boots going back up and the basement door closing again.

Out of caution, Peter and Louis waited to come out until they were sure no one was there. Louis came out first, pushing the lid of the barrel off his head. But when he stood up, he found himself looking into the barrel of a rifle. Louis froze, and slowly looked up, his eyes coming to meet that of a Wehrmacht soldier.

"_Stehen Sie auf_," he ordered. He motioned with his rifle for Louis to stand up. Louis complied, standing straight in the potato barrel. He raised his hands tentatively over his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the soldier's. The Nazi appeared about to holler for his comrades, when suddenly there as a hand over his mouth.

Louis watched as Peter knocked the rifle out of the soldier's hands, and with a quick motion, slit his throat. Peter backed up, letting the soldier topple to the floor. Louis looked away from the heavy blood.

Peter was having his own reactions himself. He had never killed a man like that before. It was one thing up in the air, shooting at machines that were shooting back at you. But to take a life right there with his own hands, and then to witness the life seep away…that was very different. Peter looked away for a moment, but then told himself he had done what needed to be done. _That man, _he told himself, _might have hurt my country in the future. He needed to be killed._

"What now," asked Louis. "They will come looking for 'im."

"Let's pray they don't," said Peter. He dragged the body away from the potato barrel, and slid it under the stairs. He kicked the basement dirt around to smother the blood as best as he could. "Get back in the barrel."

Louis crouched back down, and fitted the lid over his head again. Peter got behind the shelf again. It was not long before they heard the door open again.

"_Görg? Sind Sie hier unten?_"

They heard at least one man coming down the stairs.

"Görg?"

When there was no answer, the other soldier went back up. Peter and Louis both breathed in relief. But it was not to be. They heard a call for more men, and then more footsteps hurdle down into the basement. It was only mere seconds until the body had been found.

Peter gripped his knife tightly. He heard the Nazis beginning to tear the basement apart. The shelf shifted some, and then Peter was suddenly face to face with a Wehrmacht soldier.

"_Hier!_"

Peter slashed at the soldier, and caught him across the cheek. There was not enough room for the Nazi to wield his rifle, but his bayonet was sufficient enough. He stabbed at Peter, who had limited room to move. The bayonet bit into his side some, but not deep. He punched the Nazi, and pushed him away, desperate for more mobility. But when he pushed the Nazi out, there were suddenly two more there. They each grabbed him and yanked him out from behind the shelf. He was forced to the ground, and disarmed quickly. Looking up, he saw that there was at least an entire platoon in the basement. Every single soldier had his rifle trained on Peter.

Peter cursed, and was rewarded with a kick in the shin by one of the soldiers. They searched him again, and after satisfied that he was unarmed, they pulled him to his feet. He was marched out from the basement. Upstairs, he saw Michel, Bernard, Gregoir, and baker all standing on the wall in the kitchen. They were not exactly guarded by the Nazis, but they understood that they were being watched. When they saw Peter, they tried to keep unreadable expressions.

Suddenly, the baker stepped forward, shouting angrily and pointing at Peter accusingly. He was talking directly to one Wehrmacht soldier, a young Lieutenant. The Lieutenant appeared to understand him. When the baker was finished with his rant, the Lieutenant turned to Peter.

"The baker says that he never knew you were down there," said the Lieutenant with only a hint of an accent. "Is this true?"

"Yes," answered Peter without hesitation. He knew full well that if the baker was found guilty of aiding him, he would be shot for treason. "I was shot down not far from 'ere an' was makin' me way back. But I was 'ungry, so I snuck in town last night, an' was 'idin' in 'is basement to get some food an' rest."

"You are alone," asked the Lieutenant.

"Yes," answered Peter again.

"You have gotten no aid from any French civilians," asked the Lieutenant persistently.

"No. You think I trust the French? I'm English." Peter gave a small smile.

The Lieutenant returned it coldly. "Unfortunately, I do not trust the French or the English. You—or someone in this building—killed one of my men just a few minutes ago." He looked to his men and ordered another thorough search of the basement and house.

Meanwhile, Peter was handcuffed behind his back and searched once more. When he protested some, one of the soldiers knocked him across the cheek. He fell silent and held his breath while the search went on. It was not too much longer before a triumphant shout was heard from the basement. Peter's heart fell to his stomach. Sure enough, Louis was brought up the stairs, sporting a swelling eye, and looking ferocious. But when the little Frenchman saw Michel and the others lined up, his face fell.

The Lieutenant, however, smiled. He looked back at the baker. "You cannot say that you were not aiding a Frenchman, because I would never believe it," he said in French. "Would you, if you were in my position?"

The baker, knowing he was in for it, did not bite back a word. "I would never be in your position, you filthy scum."

The Lieutenant did not bat an eye. "Get them outside," he ordered his men. "We will make an example of them."

Though the Lieutenant had said this in German, and no one knew exactly what had been said, the accused had heard the finality in his tone. They knew that this was it. Michel, Bernard, Gregoir, and the baker were now certain to be shot for hiding the soldiers, no matter where they were from. And Peter and Louis, dawned in uniform, were not quite sure what their fate was. What they were sure of, however, was that dreams of getting across the Channel to freedom were now gone. As they were led outside, where they saw swastikas hanging on every corner, accompanied by alert Wehrmacht soldiers, they knew that to get free again, they would need a miracle.

The Lieutenant walked behind them, eyeing them as a proud conqueror would eye his newly acquired slaves. Peter and Louis looked back at him as they were forced down the street.

"Eyes ahead," he said. "Your fate is now mine, and I assure you that the war is over for you."


	6. Allies

**Chapter Six: Allies**

June 2, 1940

The execution had been quick and had taken place in the town square, so that all could see. The Lieutenant, who introduced himself as _Oberleutnant_ Roche Haussler, was in charge of the town's security under the Nazis. (1) He elaborately explained the consequences of harboring enemies of the Third Reich and then quickly let the consequences be explained in their own words. Michel, Bernard, Gregoir, and the baker were all lined up against a small statue that stood at the town's square, and then promptly shot by a firing squad. Neither of them resisted, but all refused a blindfold. Not a soul in the square said a word. The only sound was a distant battle, and the wind.

Peter and Louis were unsure if they were next. They were both prepared to take the bullets, fully knowing that as soldiers, that would be their most likely fate in any circumstances. Haussler, however, hardly touched them. He just made sure everyone in the town was aware what enemies of the Third Reich looked like, and then they were taken away as the town was ordered to go about their business as usual.

Peter and Louis were escorted to what was the largest building in the town, a bank, and kept in a vault as a cell. The bank appeared to be the Nazis' headquarters in the town. The guard locked them in, and they listened as his footsteps faded away.

"I wonder if we can suffocate in 'ere," said Peter suddenly.

Louis looked around. The vault was large, but all metal, and most likely sealed. It was really an oversized safe. It had been most likely the safe of one of the richer habitants of the town. He shrugged. "It is large enough."

Peter smirked. "Never thought I'd be locked in a bank vault."

"Something ironic," asked Louis curiously.

"Not much," said Peter. "'Cept I used to plan on 'ow to rob these things."

"You are a criminal," exclaimed Louis, shocked, and slightly disgusted.

"Not the bad sort," retorted Peter quickly. "Besides, I gave it up. It wasn't doin' me much good anyways. I was straight when I joined the RAF, and 'ave been ever since."

But Louis continued to scrutinize the Englishman suspiciously. He slid over to the opposite corner. "I should 'ave known. I 'eard that the Cockneys were all trash."

Peter glared lividly. "On'y the ones who were dumb enough—like me—to get themselves into trouble are trash. But that doesn't mean everyone."

Louis just scoffed and looked the other way, right into the vault wall. He could see his reflection on the clean metal. He could also see behind him. Across the vault, the Englishman was glowering at him, before he switched his attention to his side. Louis saw that Peter had his hand over his side. When he removed it, blood was visible.

Louis suddenly felt very guilty. Guilty for having said what he said because he knew he had said it all out of anger and frustration at their predicament. There was also sadness, at seeing his country run over, people killed, homes burned and destroyed, his friends being slain, and the unknown that was looming over their heads. Louis bowed his head, and rubbed his eyes. Emotions suddenly overcame him. He forced himself not to sniffle, but wiped some tears away before the fell into the Englishman's sight. When he was composed, he looked back at Peter.

"I am sorry," he said.

Peter looked up from performing his own ministrations. "Wot?"

"I do not mean what I said," replied Louis. "I spoke out of anger at being captured and seeing the others killed. I am sure you are a good man."

"By all rights, I'm probably not," said Peter. "It's just that, we aren't all like that."

"I know," said Louis. "I used to always go to Paris, and met all sorts of people there. I know a lot of French people who are trash. 'Ow does the saying go? There is one in every crowd?"

"That's it," said Peter. He looked back at his side. "An' we all bleed the same apparently too."

Louis winced. "Is it bad?"

"No," answered Peter. "Not really. It's just a scratch. But it stings like 'ell."

"You need to stop the bleeding," said Louis. "I do not 'ave a bandage, but maybe if you took that one off your 'ead, you could use it to put pressure on your side."

Peter looked up at Louis and smiled cautiously. "Thanks." He went on to remove the bandage from his head that the doctor had put on—something that seemed like eons ago—not just yesterday.

"What do you think they are going to do with us," asked Louis.

"I'll 'ope for anythin' that doesn't involved gettin' shot," answered Peter.

"_Moi aussi_," replied Louis.

Peter looked up. "Me too?"

"_Oui_," said Louis with a smile.

"Where'd you learn English, or _Anglais_, rather," asked Peter.

"_Ma mère_," answered Louis with a warm smile. "'Er mother taught 'er _Anglais_. She said we ought to know _Anglais_ because it was good to know a second language and English was one that was all over the world."

"Thanks to we English, o' course," said Peter arrogantly.

Louis narrowed his eyes. "To take over the world just like _le Boche_ are doing now?"

Peter glared. "Now lookit 'ere. We learned our lesson, an' sure as 'ell aren't anywhere near as bad as Jerry. Look at 'em, practically killin' off any bloke or dame who so much as looks sideways at ole _Herr Hitler_."

Louis raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay," he exclaimed. "Anyway, _mon père_, 'e did not agree.'E is not very fond of you English.'E said that learning another language was good an' all, but if 'ad 'is way, it would 'ave been _Italien_ or Latin."

"Catholic I presume," asked Peter.

"_Oui_," answered Louis. "And you?"

"Make your own luck," answered Peter sarcastically. "It's a very a useful religion."

Louis smiled. "Funny. Cause you 'ave the name of the man who founded the Catholic Church."

"Good for 'im," said Peter. "But really?'Ow the can you believe in anything except for reality when we're locked up by Nazis right now, an' Europe is overrun except for me little island?"

Louis shrugged. "As long as you 'ave faith, you will be taken care of."

"Yea, but by who," asked Peter. "Your God, or the Krauts?"

Louis sighed. "Well, you do not 'ave to believe in 'Ell to go there."

Peter smiled, but was interrupted when they heard the vault being opened. They looked up to see the door open and four Wehrmacht soldiers standing there.

"Well," said Peter, looking at Louis. "Like I said, no matter who you are, we all bleed the same."

()()()()()()

"LeBeau, Louis. Corporal, French Army. Serial number: 08679983." (2)

_ SMACK!_

"I know you are lying. Who else helped you and _der_ _Engländer_?"

"LeBeau, Louis. Corp—"

_ SMACK!_

"_Herr Oberleutnant_, why do we not question _der Engländer_ too?"

"We will. But this man is more valuable because he is_ ein Franzose_. He will know more about what lies around here, who he contacted, etc. _Der Engländer _cannot even speak French much less tell us who helped them. No, it was most likely this man who organized it all."

Haussler looked down at the Frenchman who was now sagging against the soldiers' hold. His face was now bruised and bloodied. He looked up with determined eyes though.

"I told you, all I was doing was making my way to the coast," said Louis. "And when I got to this town, I was helped by those four men. The Englishman was already there. I do not even know his name."

"Well," said Haussler. "Once we get his name and his story, I will let you know what his name is." He turned around. "Bring him back to the vault and bring back the Englishman."

Louis was brought back to the vault and pushed back in. He braced himself to hit the ground, but instead found his face buried in a wool fabric. He looked up and found himself in the Englishman's arms.

"Wot did they do to you," asked Peter, concerned.

"Never mind him," said one of the Nazis. "Drop him and come here. It is your turn."

Peter swallowed and slowly lowered Louis to the ground, and sat him up against the wall. He patted the Frenchman's shoulder.

"We do not know each other," whispered Louis.

Peter frowned, confused at what Louis had said, but had not time to ask because he was suddenly pulled back. He was forced from the vault and watched as they slammed it shut and locked it. Then, the two Wehrmacht soldiers took him into another room across the hall. There, he saw Haussler sitting at a desk, looking out the window. Peter was pushed against the wall by the two soldiers. Looking down, he saw drops of blood. He licked his lips nervously.

Haussler turned around and stood up. He walked around the desk and came to stand before Peter. "You know the drill _Engländer_."

Peter's eyes darted around the room. "Um, actually, I don't."

"Really," asked Haussler. "You mean, you do not know what to say when I ask you a question?"

"Oh, that," said Peter. "Yea. I'm supposed to give you my name, rank, and serial number."

"Very good," said Haussler. "So: where did you meet the Frenchman?"

"Newkirk, Peter. Corporal, Royal Air Force. Serial number: 01568832." Peter seemed pleased with himself. "If there's anythin' else you wanted, it's on me dog tag."

Haussler gave a weak, annoyed smile, and then turned cold. "Very well. I am glad we got that out of the way. So: where did you first meet the Frenchman?"

Peter remembered what Louis told him in the vault just before. "Oh, just right before you chaps found us actually. 'E 'ad just come down, an' said that you lot were on your way. We 'id as quick as we could. But blimey, I don't even know 'is name."

Haussler bristled, and grabbed Peter's collar. He slammed Peter's head back against the wall, and then leaned in. "Listen _Engländer_. I know you are lying. Three of those men do not even live in this town. No one claimed their bodies. Meaning, they came from somewhere else. Perhaps escorts taking two Allied soldiers to the coast? Now, you may be prisoners and think that you are protected by the Geneva Convention, but in matters of security, you could both be labeled as spies for having worked with partisans."

Peter was silent for a moment as he took in all of that information, which was hard to do considering that he was seeing stars at the moment. He opened his mouth, and Haussler smiled, expecting the Englishman to have cowed.

"Newkirk, Peter. Corporal, Royal Air Force. Serial number: 01568832."

Haussler backhanded Peter across the face. "You can repeat that all day and I will continue to beat you. Is that what you want?"

Peter looked back at Haussler. "Wot do you think?" Peter ducked this time, so that Haussler missed him. But instead, he was just punched in the gut, harder than he had been hit. He doubled over a he tried to catch his breath.

Then, the door opened.

"_Herr Oberleutnant_," said a Wehrmacht private in German. "_Herr Oberst Beiden_ is here. He wants to see you right away."

Haussler nodded. "I will be there shortly." The private nodded and left the room. Haussler looked at his guards. "Bring _der_ _Engländer _back to the vault. We will finish this later."

Peter had never felt so grateful for interruptions before. He let himself be brought back to the vault. When he was back in, he found Louis still in the position he had left him in, but he appeared asleep. Peter wondered if he had passed out. Still, he did not bother the Frenchman. Instead, he rested against the opposite wall, and fell asleep himself.

()()()()()()

Haussler stepped into the temporary office of his superior officer and saluted. The man behind the desk also came to attention as saluted as well.

"_Heil Hitler_."

"_Heil Hitler_," replied Haussler. He then went at ease as _Oberst Beiden _sat back down.

"_Oberleutnant Haussler_," began Beiden. "You have done good work here in the area. Your security has locked the area down superbly. So far, your men have captured one hundred and forty-five British and French soldiers. I also learned that you have captured two more?"

"_Jawohl Herr Oberst,_" answered Haussler. "I was just interrogating them. They were helped by partisans."

"Hmm," pondered Beiden. "Very good. Were the partisans found?"

"_Jawohl_," replied Haussler triumphantly. "They were executed as well, to be made an example before the town."

"_Sehr gut_," said Beiden. "Well, first order of business, because of your satisfactory work in the battles across Belgium and France, you are being promoted." He stood up, and with a click of his heels presented Haussler with his new collar patches. "Congratulations, _Hauptmann _Haussler."

Haussler took the patches from Beiden. He then went to attention and gave a sharp salute. "_Danke, Herr Oberst._ This means a lot to me."

"I am sure it does," replied Beiden. "You have done good work and deserve it. Also, I expect you to promote some of your men into officers. They as well, deserve the extra pay."

"I will _Herr Oberst_," said Haussler.

Beiden sat back down, and Haussler went to ease again.

"However," said Beiden. "No matter how well you have done here, your unit is being called back into Germany. You will become security soldiers within the Third Reich."

Haussler's jaw clenched imperceptibly. "But, sir, are we not already security soldiers here, in France? And what of the Gestapo and other SS branches?"

"They are a small group," replied Beiden. "Too small to take care of all the security that needs to be dealt with now. Especially that we have POWs. So far, we have captured about 45,000 British and French troops, in this campaign to the coast. We expect to capture more as we end the siege on Dunkirk. They are trying to escape now, by boat, but as soon as we get the orders, we will crush them."

"_Jawohl,_" replied Haussler. "But sir, what will my role be in that?"

"You, and your men," began Beiden. "Will begin transferring POWs to their rightful camps. You will take the ones you have captured plus another two hundred from other areas. You will leave tomorrow."

"So soon," asked Haussler.

"_Ja_," answered Beiden. "The other two hundred you will be taking are going to be brought in today. If they are not all here today, then you will wait and then begin the march as soon as you have all of them."

"The march," asked Haussler.

"We do not have enough machines to accommodate all the POWs," explained Beiden. "So, you will march the prisoners across France and to Mannheim, Germany. There you will all be put onto a train, and taken to Bielski, Poland. The prisoners are being taken to Stalag XXXA, which is not far from Bielski. Once the prisoners are there, you will report back to Berlin, and await further orders."

"How long will this take," asked Haussler.

"It is hard to say," answered Beiden. "It depends on the prisoners' ability to march across France. I would say two months at the most."

Haussler nodded, hiding his frustration behind a stoic demeanor. "_Jawohl_. Do these men need to be registered with the Red Cross before we go?"

"_Nein,_" answered Beiden. "The Red Cross and the Swiss would want a location so that mail could be sent. Since they will not be in a camp yet, do not register them. It will only confuse matters."

Haussler inwardly smiled. "Is that all, _Herr Oberst_?"

"_Ja,_" said Beiden. "I will be leaving this afternoon, so do you have any questions?"

"_Nein,_ _Herr Oberst,_" said Haussler.

"_Gut,_" said Beiden. He stood up and saluted. "_Heil Hitler._"

"_Heil Hitler,_" replied Haussler. He quickly left the room.

Once outside, Haussler let his emotions surface. He punched the wall irritably. Why was he being diminished to herd dogs across Europe to their pen? He was a Wehrmacht soldier, not police. More importantly, he was in fact an officer of the Wehrmacht, in charge of other men. They had done so well on this Western Front, and now they were being sent back to watch over the defeated. He would rather be storming beaches into Britain.

Still, there was one thing he liked that had come through with his new orders. None of the prisoners needed to be registered with the Red Cross. Therefore, no one would know where they were, if they were dead or alive, or really anything about them. That meant that their treatment meant nothing. He could do whatever he liked with them, because as far as anyone was concerned, they were killed the instant they were captured. With a devilish smile, Haussler proceeded to prepare his men for their next move.

()()()()()()

June 3, 1940

Louis woke up after sometime, not even remembering having fallen asleep. Still, he felt somewhat refreshed. He saw Peter lying against the opposite wall, sound asleep. The Englishman's lip looked a bit swollen, but otherwise he seemed unharmed, besides the wounds he had sustained when he was shot down. Strangely, Louis was glad for that.

He began to tend to himself, picking away some of the dry blood that had crusted along his own lips and nose. He felt that his face was swollen, but there was nothing he could do for that. His abdomen protested any stretching motion as well, so he took to moving slowly. Louis got up and paced the vault some, just to stretch his legs. He walked quietly, though, so as not to wake up Peter.

But it turned out that Peter was a light sleeper. He woke up after Louis had taken only a few turns around the vault.

"Wot's goin' on," asked Peter.

"Nothing," replied Louis. "I was just stretching my legs." He sat back down, once again on the opposite wall from Peter.

"You all right," asked Peter.

"_Oui_," answered Louis. "Just a bit sore. You?"

"Fine," said Peter. "They didn't get time to get too rough on me."

"When did they bring you back in," asked Louis.

"Not long after they took me," answered Peter. "I really thought I was in done in, but the good Lieutenant got called away."

"By what," asked Louis.

"Dunno," answered Peter. "They was all talkin' German."

Louis sighed. "Did 'e ask you about the partisans?"

"Yea," said Peter disgustedly. "Does 'e really think we'll spill our guts 'bout the on'y fing that'll 'ave this country goin' after we're all gone? 'E must fink we're all ruddy yellow dogs."

"I am positive that is what 'e thinks," retorted Louis. "After all, they all think that they are the superior race, right?"

"Superior race," spat Peter. "Who do they fink they're kiddin'? Why 'alf o' them prob'ly couldn't be more than sixteen an' they've got 'em fightin' on the front. Wot genius does that?"

"Hitler of course," explained Louis matter-of-factly.

"True," agreed Peter. "'Ow could I've forgotten?"

"I suppose it is easy to forget that it is really one man on top when you are fighting so many other men," said Louis thoughtfully. "It almost does not make any sense."

"I don't see any sense," declared Peter.

"Well," said Louis. "Germany 'ad it 'ard. I suppose Hitler seemed like a great guy in the beginning. It is just that now Germany 'as gone too far. Now, they really 'ave done it again."

"They've gone further than ever before, too," said Peter hopelessly. "I mean, they've got Japan an' Italy wif 'em too. An' between the three o' them they've taken North Africa, India, China, the Pacific, an' most of the West!"

"But there is still freedom out there," said Louis. "Not to mention that the Americans are still out there."

"Yanks," growled Peter. "Wot 'ave they done? In this war, an' even the last one, they were 'ard pressed to stick out their neck. They're right as rain to just stay on the other side o' the pond an' wait it all out."

"I think they will come," asserted Louis confidently. "Like you said: it is worse than before. They cannot ignore it forever. They will 'ave to act, because soon enough, it will be on their doorstep."

"Are you kiddin'," exclaimed Peter. "Who in their right mind would directly attack the Yanks? Their America is a ruddy fortress! They're surrounded by water, an' I've got to 'and it to 'em, but they can raise an army from scratch an' defend their land like it's the ruddy 'Oly Grail! Look, no matter 'ow daft Hitler, or any o' these other arses who are tryin' to take over the world are, I don't fink they'll be goin' for America anytime soon."

Louis shrugged. "Not soon, but eventually. And when they do, America will join the fight, and 'elp us rid the threat of these monsters!"

"Keep dreamin' Frenchie," muttered Peter. "I think I'll stick to reality."

Before Louis could respond, they heard the vault door being opened. Both instinctively moved away from the door. When it opened, there were four Wehrmacht soldiers ready for them.

"_Kommen Sie_," said one. Peter and Louis looked at one another, neither understanding. "_Kommen Sie!_" This time the soldier motioned with his gun for Peter and Louis to get up. They both did cautiously. The soldier snorted with impatience and sent two other soldiers inside to retrieve the misunderstanding POWs. They were pushed outside, and immediately marched outside the bank. They saw that it was actually dawn.

"We must've slept the whole night," said Peter. Louis just nodded. His head was throbbing with all this sudden motion.

The soldiers escorted them down the street and back into the town square. There, at least a hundred more POWs were sitting down in lines, with their hands on their head. Peter and Louis were shoved down at the end of one line. No one was talking because no one dared, or even seemed in the mood. Really, most of the men just sat there, with their hands on their heads, looking utterly defeated and worn down. Many were wounded, and none looked as if they had very well treated. Most looked just plain tired as well.

They sat there most of the day, their numbers growing with each hour. More soldiers were posted around them, and still no one knew what was going on. The mood became tenser. Many POWs were hurting and in need of care. There were groans every now and then, also some deep sobs tearing from the throats of scared young men.

Peter found his eyes starting to water. What if this was it? It had been one thing, yesterday, after fighting off the soldiers and finally being captured. He almost would have been proud of the bullet. But now, he was scared. What happened next? What was to become of him, Peter Newkirk? Who would tell the stories of his comrades, and bring the news of their fate to their families? Who would watch over his sister? Peter felt like he was falling down a bottomless pit, where no hope could ever be found.

Louis was fighting that sensation, trying to block out the groans and sobs with memories of his family. He kept reminding himself why he was here; what he was fighting for. He closed his eyes and saw his family's farm, and their small town. They were eating around the large table outside, everyone talking and laughing, no worries in the world. There was Jean, as they strolled through Paris looking for pretty dames to catch a date with. But with these memories, the recent visions came of the other town's church razed down and the Nazi flag being raised up. And Jean's bloody face. Still, Louis fought hopelessness, trying to take comfort in anything he could remember.

As the church bell tolled for noon, and the summer heat was becoming almost unbearable to most of the POWs, water was finally passed around by the Nazis. Everyone was able to get a good long sip, before having to pass it to the next man. Peter took a sip of the precious liquid, and then passed it to Louis. After Louis took his drink, he turned to pass it to the next man. It was an infantryman, and Louis recognized the HD sign, symbolizing him to be from the 51st Highland Division. (4) The young Scot appeared asleep, with his chin resting in his hands, and his elbows perched on his legs as he sat Indian style. Louis shook him gently.

"'Ere. Take the water."

But the Scot slumped over and hit the pavement hard, unmoving. Louis then saw the gash across his neck. It was dirty and obviously infected. The man who sat on the other side of him looked down.

"He got that a few days ago, right before we were captured. I guess the infection finally got him," he said. He took the canteen from Louis.

Louis looked back at Peter, who was also staring down at the young Scot out of shock. In fact, Peter's eyes were glued to the neck wound. Suddenly, he became very nauseated, and tried to swallow the vomit that was coming up from his gut. But he couldn't and turned and started throwing up. Fortunately, he was on the end of the line, so he needn't worry about where his vomit went. Louis just stared straight ahead. He then closed his eyes, trying to think of home again. A place that seemed so far away and a place he thought he would never look at the same again, if he ever saw it again.

It seemed as if they would be there the entire day, but finally, only about an hour after the water was handed out, the prisoners were ordered to their feet. Some remained on the ground. No one looked at them. The guards put them in two lines on both sides of the street. Peter made sure he was right behind Louis. Louis just kept his eyes straight ahead.

Haussler appeared out in front of them, drawing the prisoners' attention.

"You are now on your way to the POW camps where you will spend the rest of the war waiting for your countries' ultimate defeat," said the arrogant Captain. "Like I told many of you before: the war is over for you. Your only hope for survival now is to remained cowed and try nothing foolish." Haussler looked around challengingly. "You will be marched most of the way to the camp, because we do not have the resources to put you all in trucks and bring you there. Now, if you fall behind, because you are wounded, sick, or too weak, that is your own fault. My men will be taking up the rear. If you fall behind them, you will be shot. If you fall and do not get up, we will count you as dead, and you will be shot. Also, any attempt to run, and my men will fire at will and to kill. I hope I have made myself clear to you, because I would not want you to make an unfortunate decision."

There was no movement or sound made by any of the prisoners. More of Haussler's men came out to the street at last, finally done packing up their provisions. There were some carts that would be pulled by mules, loaded down with food and water. Some of the soldiers had steeds, no doubt borrowed from the local countryside. Haussler himself was brought out a horse for him to ride on. For a few more minutes, they were all still, Haussler's men going through some last minute details before their departure. Then, someone gave the order for the prisoners to start moving, and before anyone could do anything, they were marching out of the town.

As they left, civilians watched them leave with sad and foreboding expressions on their faces. A few children waved goodbye. As they left town, they went over a hill. At its crest, Peter looked back. In the distance, he could see a burning town, and the sea. Off the beaches, thousands of men were wading out to boats, where they would soon be taken across the Channel to safety, for then.

_ So close_, thought Peter, and he wondered where he was off to now. Wherever it was, he knew it was not good. He knew he was on his way somewhere to a place he did not want to be.

It was about an hour later, with the sun beating down on them all, that the first shot was fired. The prisoners looked back to see one of their wounded comrades lying dead in the middle of the road. That was when they all noticed that already many of the wounded and sick were dropping to the rear. The men started to make the effort to help those that they could. Still, some of the guards pulled them a part, keeping them from talking and helping one another. Peter swallowed and looked directly ahead of him. Louis walked stoically on.

Peter quickly went to his side.

"Look, I don't give a bloody damn if you're a friggin' Frog or not," he said suddenly bringin Louis out of his silent state of shock. "The thing is, we need to forget where we're from an' think about where we're 'eaded."

Louis did not respond. He walked on stoically. Suddenly, another gunshot was heard. Another sickened man had not been able to move on. Louis had flinched when he heard it, and he saw from the corner of his eye that Peter had too. The shot proved to him that _L'Anglais_ was right; even though he was sorry to admit it.

"Why do you care about me," Louis finally asked. "What about all of your countrymen?" He was curious as to why the Englishman was hanging around him when he was surrounded by British soldiers as well.

"Because most o' them are infantry, an' the other blokes that are airmen are mostly officers," replied Peter. It was a weak excuse. "Besides, at least I know you." He sighed and softly added. "You saved me life."

Louis looked up at Peter. He was looking down at him with thoughtful eyes, which were so different from suspicious ones he had become used to.

"I thought you saved my life," said Louis. "We will call it even, _non_?" He smiled.

Peter smiled back. Louis was thrown off by it. It was the first time he had seen the Englishman smile, and it lit up his face, making him seem so much younger. Louis realized that he had not seen any smiles since he had been captured; save for the filthy Boche. He also realized that he _did_ want someone to be around without feeling incredibly awkward. And by now, oddly, he was not awkward around that Englishman. He held out his hand to Peter.

"Long live the King, eh," said Louis.

Peter shook his hand.

"_Vive la France_," he replied.

Louis rolled his eyes at the attempted French, but smiled good naturedly. "_Merci beaucoup."_

Peter nodded. "Yea; ta mate."

One of the Nazis marching between the two lines of prisoners walked over and pushed the two apart; Louis in front and Peter behind.

"No talking," spat the soldier.

"Yea, mate, will do," Louis heard Peter say.

Next was the sound of skin meeting skin. Louis willed himself to not look behind him. Wherever they stopped tonight, he would have to talk to Peter about keeping his mouth shut. It seemed to be the one thing that was getting him into more trouble today than anything else.

Louis smiled, thinking of the comfort he now had because he would have someone to talk to tonight. There was now someone to share stories and thoughts with. There was now someone he could trust. Even though they were both men of few words, he had a feeling that they had built something precious this day.

Peter rubbed his jaw where the Nazi had smacked him. Fortunately, there was no blood. He threw a nasty look at the soldier, who just walked off arrogantly. But Peter could have cared less. That soldier may have broken up their handshake, but now he and Louis had something stronger: friendship. This was the start of something; he could feel it.


	7. On the Fifth Night

**Chapter Seven: On the**** F****ifth**** Night**

June 8, 1940

The past five days had gone on slowly and dreadfully. Most of the sick and wounded that would not recover were dead, having been killed on the side of the road. Some had died during the night, which the prisoners agreed was better than being shot. There was, they said, some dignity in it. Whenever someone did die, his closest comrade would take up his personal belongings. If he carried another man's those were taken as well. No one wanted to be forgotten. On the roads, the French civilians did what they could. Haussler made it a point to avoid the larger towns, so it was all countryside and villages. Civilians left pails of water out for the men. Sometimes, the prisoners spotted children crouched in the grass, watching them go by. At first, the prisoners would pick up the pails and pass them around. But after while, Haussler ordered that the pails needed to be gotten rid of. So, when they were spotted ahead, Haussler's men would go ahead, and kick the pails over. The running water on the dirt roads was just more reason for the thirsty prisoners to hate Haussler.

Their nourishment came at night, when they stopped at dusk. They were kept in an open field, often packed closely together, so that night guards could watch them. Then, they were given a piece of bread each, and canteens were passed around. Sometimes, the guards would just toss them bread. But the prisoners remained civilized, ensuring that there was an even amount for everyone. This seemed to bother the guards, but they never messed with how the prisoners ate. Sleep always came easily, no matter where they slept, and morning always came too quickly.

On the fifth night, however, the prisoners were in for a small treat. They stopped at a large farm, with two large barns. There was enough room to ensure that all the prisoners had a roof over their heads, even if they were packed in like cattle. Inside, they found warm hay. The nights were much cooler than the stifling days, and the semi-comfort of the hay was a welcome to their aching bodies. They collapsed onto the hay with heavy weariness. The guards tossed them their bread and filled the water troughs. They were no longer bothered with feeding like animals. It was survival now. The prisoners fell upon their food and drink. The guards watched until they were through. Then, with a depressing thud, the doors were shut and locked. After getting their meager fill, Louis and Peter found one of the last places open where you could stretch your feet some: a large stall. There were four other men already in the stall and everyone exchanged introductions. There was a rough looking Scotsman, Sergeant Stephen McLean; a suspicious looking RAF officer, Squadron Leader James Lawrence; a frightened young infantryman, Private Luke Fairnth; and an intelligent looking French soldier, _Caporal-chef _Marcel D'Orléans. LeBeau and D'Orléans exchanged some pleasantries, and then dove into quick French that none of the British men tried to decipher. Peter looked to his fellow countrymen and nodded to the young Luke Fairnth with an easy smile.

"You're shakin' like a leaf, mate," said Peter. He laid a gentle hand on the Private's shoulder. "Don't worry. It won't be like this forever."

Luke looked at him uncertainly. "You think so," he asked tentatively.

"Well, yea," said Peter, as cheerfully as he could muster. "We won't be marchin' forever. Eventually, they'll stick us in some ruddy POW camp, an' I s'pose that's where we'll spend the duration. O' course, I don't plan in bein' locked up that long."

"You would try to escape," asked Luke.

"You bet," replied Peter. "Ole Peter Newkirk 'as never been locked up for long!"

"Could the bobbies even catch ye, matey," asked Stephen McLean with a roguish chuckle.

Peter chuckled back. "Oh, they did a few times. But they never 'ad anythin' good on me, ya know?"

"You probably had your buddies up in there working for you," said the Squadron Leader Lawrence distastefully. "Better yet, you Cockneys would never become officers."

Peter scowled. "Now, lookit 'ere. We might come from the gutters, but we do got 'onor."

"Oh, you've got as much honor as _Herr Hitler_," spat Lawrence.

Louis heard the comment, and was able to stop Peter from pouncing on Lawrence and picking a fight with him.

"Steady, _mon ami_," he said. "Just let it go. You do not 'ave to be around 'im all the time."

"Oh, shut up, Frenchie," said Lawrence.

"Look, wot's got ye all wound," asked Stephen defensively. "We've all been captured. There's no need tae take oot yer anger on us. If ye want tae vent, go take on Jerray."

Lawrence scowled, but thought better of saying anything. He lay down and tried to go to sleep. Soon after that, the guards started beating on the doors and walls, telling everyone to shut up and go to sleep. No one complained. They were ready to end the day and go to the next. One more day finished meant they were one day closer to reaching their destination. They had no idea where that was, or how brutal it would be, but so far they knew the march to be the harshest experience yet; nothing could be worse. They all went to sleep.

Except Peter. As they had been coming onto the farm, he had noticed several large bins of potatoes. He was sure they were not very tasteful, but the chance to get more food and feel full once again was too tempting to pass up. So, pulling out his lock picks, which had yet to be confiscated from him, he carefully walked over everyone and picked the lock of the barn door. He paused, to see if anyone had noticed his movement. No one had. He pushed the door open to a small crack he could slide through, and then crept out. He quietly shut the door behind him and waited in the shadows. He heard a few guards walking around, but easily dodged their paces. He soon came to a small cabin where the officers were eating. They were talking and laughing loudly, so he had no trouble slipping around the cabin, where there was the least security.

On the far side of the cabin, he found himself on the edge of the farm; or at least on the edge of the buildings. In front of him, lay a vast field for about five hundred yards, and then the woods. The night was cloudy, and there was no moon. If he was careful, he could probably make his way to the woods, and would be away from this place. It was most likely that there would not be a hunt for him from here, as the Krauts would still need to supervise the other prisoners. That would give him at least a day's start to get ahead, and possibly to a French underground system. He might even get home.

On the far side of the cabin, he also found himself squatting next to the bins of potatoes, and was reminded of the reason he was here. No, not reason…reasons. He was there, sitting next to abandoned potatoes, at an abandoned farm, where a French family had once lived and thrived. Where were they now? Only God knew. Why weren't they there? Because someone had taken over their home, their livelihood, their business, and what for? To house themselves and their prisoners. The potatoes, which had most likely been cared for since they were planted, and painstakingly harvested were now going to waste. Well, not if Peter Newkirk had something to say about. With a last, forlorn look to the field, Peter picked up a bin of the potatoes and starting creeping his way back to the barn.

He had one hair-raising moment when a guard looked behind him. The guard was actually looking straight at Peter, but since the Englishman was in the shadows he was virtually invisible. When the guard was satisfied that his suspicions were false, he left and Peter breathed easier. But he would not breathe easy until he was back in the barn. Finally, he was there, and he crept back in only to find that no one had missed him. Everyone was so exhausted; they did not even notice Peter carrying a bin of potatoes over their heads.

He placed the bin down in his stall and shook Louis awake.

"_Que?_" grumbled Louis, only half awake.

He rolled over, trying to see Peter in the dark. He waved his hand around some, and Peter grabbed it. Louis looked at him with confusion when his eyes adjusted to the dark and he saw that Peter was wearing a triumphant grin. His eyes narrowed.

"What did you do," he asked suspiciously.

"I got food," answered Peter in an excited whisper. He moved to the side so that Louis could see the bin of potatoes. Louis's eyes went wide.

"'Ow did you—". But Peter cut him off.

"Forget it," he said. "Just start wakin' everyone up, but quietly. Send 'em over 'ere an' I'll 'and 'em out."

Louis nodded, and began his task. They got a line going, and Peter got each man two potatoes. It went over well enough. Fortunately, ever man realized the importance of the situation and there were almost no words exchanged. No one complained about potatoes either. It was better than just the bread, and knowing they would have a full stomach to go back to sleep on was something they could not complain about. A few times during the process, everyone froze in terror when they heard a guard really close by, or someone made a noise that sounded loud only to them. Even though it went quickly enough, it felt terribly long. Afterwards, there were a few left over, and Peter secretly passed them out to those that lay closest to him. Reluctantly, he gave one to Lawrence.

Before going to sleep, he snuck out once more and put the bin outside, and away from the barn some. It would not do any good to be found with it in the morning.

Back inside the barn, they all fell asleep again more easily this time, with full stomachs.

***** ***** *****

June 9, 1940

Louis woke up with a start. Something felt wrong. He looked around him in the stall, and up at the ceiling. But the barn looked different than it had when they had entered. But it was just the same. Except…what was it? Then, he realized with a start what it was: it was bright inside the barn, as if it was later in the day. Yes, that was it. He looked at his watch. 0900?! They should have left two hours ago! What were they doing still here? He rolled over so that his nose was practically between Peter's shoulder blades. The Englishman was soundly sleeping. It sounded as if everyone was. But no one was sleeping outside; that he was certain of. He could clearly hear their captors moving about, already into the day's work.

Louis got on his knees and peered through a knot hole in the back of the stall. The Wehrmacht were moving around quickly, appearing to be preparing for the next leg of the march. This only confused Louis more. They were obviously leaving, but why so late? The Nazis were so punctual about being on time. Louis felt a strange uneasiness. A break in routine usually meant that something was wrong. Louis just hoped that this meant nothing was wrong for the prisoners. His gut told him it was exactly that.

He looked through the knot hole again. This time, his peek was interrupted when the barn door burst open, followed by cries of surprise by some of the prisoners. Instinctively, Louis fell flat on the ground, even though the stall wall concealed him from most eyes. There were a few mutterings towards the rude awakening, but everyone fell quiet. Louis sat up, and saw that Peter was blearily opening his eyes, and looking around. The other prisoners in the barn, who had not been trampled by the door, were doing the same. Louis quickly saw the looks of surprise and worry on everyone's faces that could see the door. Louis peeked out.

His blood went cold when he saw _Hauptmann_ Haussler standing in the doorway, flanked by four of his soldiers. Haussler looked especially pleased this morning, which meant nothing well for the prisoners. He began to walk through the barn, and his eyes glinted as he looked over all the prisoners. He stopped in the middle, and looked around. He smiled down at them all, as if he was pleased to see them that morning. But, knowing him, this only made the prisoners more wary.

"I am here to make sure you are given your breakfast properly this morning," he said calmly.

The prisoners looked at one another with confusion. They had never gotten breakfast before. Haussler ordered something in German and two more soldiers entered, each one carrying a bin of potatoes. They set them at Haussler's feet, and then stepped away. Haussler looked up, smiling again.

"I would offer you some bread, but you all seem very fond of potatoes."

Not all of them in the barn could conceal their feelings of shock and fear, and Haussler was obviously very perceptive. So, it came to no surprise when his eyes fell on the terrified Luke Fairnth. Haussler stalked over, smiling evilly. He stood between Peter and Lawrence as he stared down at Luke.

"How did you get them," he asked.

Luke was pale, but he managed a weak glare.

"How do you think we got them…sir," stuttered Luke. He almost sounded sarcastic, but his fear drowned it out.

Peter could have kissed him, but he didn't want the boy to get hurt for sticking up for him. He took a deep breath and then tapped Haussler on the leg.

"What," spat Haussler, not taking his eyes off Luke.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I'll just tell ya the truth, an' we won't 'ave t'go through all this," said Peter.

Louis swallowed. Luke's eyes looked like they were going to fall out. Stephen shook his head sadly. Marcel spoke heavenward in French, asking God if Peter was crazy. Lawrence narrowed his eyes, thinking something was up. Haussler turned to look down on Peter.

"Really," said Haussler, expecting foul play. "Go on."

"Well," began Peter. "When we come in, we didn't notice it at first. But one o' the bins o' potatoes was in 'ere, covered in hay an' all. I found it when I fell against it. Now, you can't really blame us for eatin' 'em, sir, 'cause we _were_ 'ungry. I mean, no one else was goin' t'eat 'em. In my mind, it was like lettin' 'em go t'waste, somethin' I was taught not t'do when I was a lad, growin' up in the 'ard times. Now, we all lived durin' those times, so you must 'ave an idea o' wot it's like to be 'ungry. Can't you remember goin' t'bed 'ungry, or just not satisfied? Well, that's 'ow we been feelin' lately. I won't be blamin' you blokes, not directly, 'cause war is expensive. But wot's wrong wif just feedin' ourselves when we find the chance? That's just called survival o' the fittest. I mean, it was sittin' there lookin' us straight in the face. We couldn't very well just ignore it. Well, that's the truth, sir, an' I just 'ope you don't come down on us too 'ard for just eatin' some food."

There was a stunned silence from the prisoners. But when Haussler looked over them all they put on innocent and thoughtful expressions, that they hoped would steer him to thinking that Peter had told the truth. Haussler stared over them for a long moment and then looked back down at Peter. Then, with unanticipated speed, he backhanded Luke across the face, startling everyone.

"Where did you get them," Haussler asked again.

Luke glared, and it was apparent that he was not going to give away any secrets just like that.

"But, sir," cried Peter. "That was the truth!"

"I do not believe you," snapped Haussler. He walked out of the stall, and looked over all the prisoners. "If no one confesses to the crime of stealing the potatoes, you will not be getting your food today. And perhaps not any other days either."

No one said anything. Haussler just nodded and then started walking to the door.

"It was the Cockney!"

Everyone's eyes went straight to Lawrence, who was pointing to Peter. Peter's eyes were wide. He wanted nothing but to melt away. But he snapped out of his frightened gaze with a sudden flood of anger to Lawrence. He pounced on the Squadron Leader, and no prisoner stopped him. He went for the throat, and he was too quick for Lawrence to stop him. He got both hands around it, and squeezed as hard as he could. He wasn't sure if he was really going to kill him…he didn't think he had the will to do it, but inflicting pain and fear was the goal.

As soon as Peter had leapt for Lawrence, the guards quickly made their way to the two prisoners. The other prisoners made no effort to move out of the way. The guards pried Peter off Lawrence. Lawrence sagged against the stall wall, breathing hard, with his eyes closed. Peter was slammed against the opposite wall by the guards. He thrashed his feet a bit, and then stopped when he realized he did not want to evoke anymore anger against him.

When Peter was pulled away, Louis contemplated on jumping Lawrence himself. The cowardly officer had betrayed his friend, and he wanted to inflict some revenge of his own. But he knew that now was not the time. The other prisoners knew it as well. Right now, the Nazis would not tolerate much more from them. No one wanted to end up dead.

Haussler walked over to Peter, and looked down at him. Then, he looked at Lawrence.

"I thought that British officers were made of tougher material," said Haussler, with a smirk. "I suppose I was wrong." He looked down at Peter again. "But British trash, as I have been taught Cockney means, seems to be made of tough _stuff_. Tell me, Corporal, have you ever been caught stealing before?"

Peter glared, but told him the truth. It wasn't going to matter anyway. "A few times."

"And you never learned," stated Haussler.

He gave some orders in German. The two guards dragged Peter out into the middle of the barn. The prisoners cleared the way. Haussler walked up to Peter, pulling out his club. He patted it with his hand as he circled the Englishman with pleasure.

"That is why the English are losing the war," he said. "They are too soft. You English…you let trash like this walk around, roaming your _lovely_ streets of London, giving you all a bad name. You are losing because street rats are fighting, and—" he looked at Lawrence "officers with no backbone lead them." He gave another order in German. The guards secured the doors shut. Haussler looked down at Peter. "You never learned not to steal. Now, I will teach you."

Peter felt no shame, only fear, when he threw his hands over his head as Haussler brought the club down.

***** ***** *****

They moved out at noon. The guards hollered and pushed them into their two, single file lines on the road.

No one had been allowed to help Peter. After he was thoroughly beaten, and obviously unconscious, Haussler stopped bringing down his club. The guards dragged him out of the barn, and the prisoners did not see him again until they were leaving. Peter had been dumped into the mud a few paces from the door. When the prisoners were leaving, they had to step over him. He was a warning to the others. The prisoners were sure he would either be shot before they began the march, or by the end of the day, because he would not be able to continue.

When Louis came to Peter, he fell to his knees, and tried to wake him. He desperately shook him. The guards pushed the little Frenchman away, and beat him back with their own clubs. Louis fought to stay at Peter's side. Marcel and Stephen dragged Louis up themselves. He even fought them, until they were in line.

"We cannot just leave 'im to les filthy Boches," he argued, tears brimming into his eyes. He saw Lawrence out of the corner of his eye. "We should leave _him_."

Marcel turned Louis to face the front. "Shhh, be quiet. We do not want to anger the guards more."

Louis scowled at Marcel as well, but knew he was only speaking the truth. He glanced back at where Peter lie, prisoners and guards still stepping over him as if he were a piece of trash in the way. Once everyone was lined up, two guards approached the battered Englishman.

"Look," whispered Louis.

The prisoners who had heard him turned to see the guards dumping a pail of cold water onto Peter. They did not even wait for him to fully open his eyes. They yanked him up to his knees and then dragged him to the front of the line. Louis sadly noticed that there was no resistance coming from the Englishman. He was brought before Haussler, and dropped like a sack of potatoes at his feet. He struggled to get up, before Haussler lost his patience and, grabbing him by the collar, jerked him off the ground, and onto his feet. When he let go, Peter swayed, but the prisoner behind him held him up. He waited until Peter gathered enough of his bearings to stand up on his own. Haussler smirked and then addressed the prisoners.

"Note the consequence for your first offence in stealing," he said. "The consequence for your second offence will guarantee that it will be your last: you will be shot." No one moved. No one said a word. No one doubted him. Haussler knew this and with a triumphant smile, he looked at Peter. "You are to remain first in this line. If you fall behind, even to the second position, you will be shot. Do I make myself clear?"

Peter managed a glare, and through his swollen lips he said, "Crystal…sir."

Haussler's smirk disappeared, but he just patted Peter's swelled cheek lightly. "We will see how much of your _cheek_ lasts, or how long you last."

He turned away, and they began the sixth day of their march. Peter began to trudge along, wincing at every movement. He grimaced, which was not unnoticed by Haussler. They both knew it was going to be a long day for the Englishman.

Throughout the day, the man behind Peter kept him up. Peter was tiring just after the first hour. He continued to remind himself that it was only for half a day, because Haussler would never risk traveling by night, when prisoners could slip away more easily. He also gained strength from his fellow prisoners.

The past few days, the prisoners had been experimenting on what they were allowed to do. After some time, they discovered that they were allowed to sing or whistle. They often picked military tunes, to keep them marching. But today, the British found the urge to sing traditional English tunes. It was not long before someone integrated traditional Cockney songs into the singing as well. The Frenchmen listened at first, before joining in with some sense of pride. They also threw in their two bits of French songs, but today the British were roaring. It was a roar of singing, though. At first, it was delicate and precise, with the usual English punctuality. But then, they started mixing up the songs, singing them to different tunes, and trying always to put a Cockney undertone to them. The Nazis could never understand exactly what they were doing with the Cockney, because they could not see the differences; their knowledge of the English culture failing them. Peter never sang, because he didn't want to give it away that he was drawing strength from the songs. If Haussler knew that, he would make them _verboten_.

But, by the fifth time they were singing _There'll Always Be an England_ with _Run Rabbit Run _and _Lambeth Walk_ as their choruses, the Nazis had had enough of it. After all,_ Lambeth Walk _was supposedly "Jewish mischief". (1)

Peter took pride that the prisoners had come by with some sort of respect for him. That was something he had not experienced before. At first, he thought it was a ploy to keep the Germans on their toes, but it was hard to deny the fact that they were cheering him on with their songs. He also continued to catch friendly smiles and helping hands of his fellow prisoners as the day wore on. Even the Frenchmen did not mind showing some respect to an Englishman. Louis happily continued to hum the British tunes that were now stuck in his head.

They did not stop until twenty-hundred hours, two hours later than normal. The songs had ended at fourteen-hundred hours, but humming and whistling had not been able to be stopped completely. At least the trek had not been in complete silence. They stopped at last in a field again. Peter was held away while the food was tossed out. It did not take long for the prisoners to devour the meager meal, and only then was Peter released back into the prisoners. He found Louis, who was sitting with Marcel, Stephen, and Luke. When Peter sat down, Stephen handed him a piece of bread.

"We took the libertay o' takin' away Sqaudron Leader Lawrence's bread," he explained. "That filth doesn't need tae be eatin' when a fighter like ye needs it more."

Peter took it wordlessly and nibbled on it. He handed it back to Stephen. "I can't eat it. Don't let it go to waste." He sank back against the haystack they were sitting beside.

Louis sadly looked at him. He took the bread from Stephen. "_Non_. You must eat. You need your strength." He tried to give it back, but Peter pushed his hand away with a painful expression.

"Please, Louie, me stomach 'urts," he said.

Louis gave him a stubborn expression. "I am sure it does, but you must eat." He broke off a piece of bread. "'Ere. Just take a little at a time." He held it up to Peter's mouth. Peter took it away and chewed it slowly. When he swallowed, Louis handed him another piece. "And my name is Louis," said the Frenchman. But he smiled kindly. Peter barely smiled back.

It did not take them long to finish the one piece of bread, and afterwards, Peter sought water. But Louis had nothing to give him.

"Oh, here you are," said Luke. He was holding his hat in his hands, which was carrying some water. "I got some out when they filled the troughs."

Peter gratefully took it and drank it. He handed Luke back his hat.

"Thanks mate," he said. "An' thanks for not sellin' me out back there in the barn. No offence, but I really thought you would."

Luke smiled. "Don't worry. I was scared. But I would never sell a fellow soldier out. Not like that Squadron Leader." He glared distastefully.

Peter chuckled, and then groaned when his abdomen started hurting. "Don't worry about 'im, mate. A bloke that weak won't last long around 'ere."

"_Oui_," said Marcel. "But I thank you _L'Anglais_."

"Me," asked Peter. "For wot? All I did was get Jerry mad at us."

"_Non_," said Marcel. "You may 'ave, but you showed us that we were not really alone. You showed us that we could care for each other. Maybe we will not steal for one another so much, but now we know that it is okay to care about one another. You see, we were treated like animals for so long, we sort of forgot that we did not 'ave to act like animals." He gave a sharp bow of his head. "_Merci beaucoup_."

Peter almost replied, but Louis put a hand over his mouth. "_S'il vous plaît_, we do not need to 'ear your 'orrible French."

They all laughed, with Peter ending it with his groans.

"Stop," he grumbled. "Laughin' is too painful."

Stephen patted the haystack. "Rest yer head, matey. We'll watch oot for Jerray for ye."

Peter smiled gratefully, and made himself comfortable on the hay. When he closed his eyes, it did not take him long to fall asleep, knowing that he had some friends watching his back.

When Louis saw that Peter was asleep, he dabbed some of the dried blood off Peter's face with a handkerchief. As he became rather squirmy, and the others could tell, Luke stopped him.

"I'll do it," he said. "You just get some sleep too. You've been worrying about him all day, old man."

LeBeau smiled. "_Merci._ I guess I will get sleep then."

He lay down, and went to sleep as well.

* * *

_(1) The "Lambeth Walk" was a song from the musical __Me and My Girl__, a popular play in London, first showing in 1937. The dance that came with the song "Lambeth Walk" was performed became popular throughout Europe. Since it was of English origin, in 1939, it was decreed "Jewish mischief" by a Nazi Party member. Thus, it was banned. However, in 1942, the BBC got hold of a film showing Nazis goose-stepping through Germany. The BBC edited the film to have the Nazis walking to the "Lambeth Walk". It was a hit in England, and made Goebbels furious. That's one for the BBC! You can watch the film on YouTube, called "Doing the Lambeth Walk". It's funny._


	8. The Men

**Chapter Eight: The**** Men**

June 10, 1940

The following day, it was as if the incident of stolen potatoes had never happened. At least to the guards. The prisoners wisely mentioned nothing of it. Peter learned that the prisoners were withholding Captain Lawrence's meals for the following two days. It was quickly apparent that the prisoners wanted him gone. Peter never uttered a word to him. The prisoners also abandoned any thoughts of following rank. They knew a corporal had tried to help them by feeding them and a captain had sold him out. From then on, each man had to earn his respect through endurance and how he treated his fellow prisoners.

When Lawrence finally got his food back, he was feeling great remorse over his deed. He tried to gather some respect by giving half of his food to Peter, who was still recovering. Peter, however, was now wary of everything and everyone. To him, Lawrence was too easily becoming a changed man. In the Cockney's eyes, Lawrence was trying to earn his well wishes because Peter now held every prisoner's respect. Officer or not, Lawrence realized he would have to do something else. He left Peter alone, much to the Cockney's pleasure.

By a week after the incident, Peter was as well as he was going to be. More alliances between prisoners were being made, as they became more comfortable around one another. The infantry and airmen still had a bit of a riff between them. The infantry was convinced that the fliers and airmen had played a small, unimportant role during the siege of Dunkirk. Most of the airmen found this annoying, feeling that their presence as prisoners should have pointed out that they played a tough role in all of it. The routine of the march had hardened them by now, so fewer men fell. Every now and then, though, someone would get sick, and they almost never got better.

Twenty days into the march, they entered Germany. There was an air of hesitancy when they crossed. They knew they had come to the border because of the checkpoint. When they raised the road guard of the bridge that crossed the Rhine, the first man was reluctant to go through. But the guards prodded him, and he went on. Before each man went through, they said a desperate prayer, so that maybe they would return from Germany alive.

The guards became worse, now that they were in the Fatherland. They boasted more and more each day. June 23rd was the worst. The day before, _Le Compiègne Armistice_ was signed, and German now had control of northern France, with the Vichy puppet government in control of southern France. The Wehrmacht guards celebrated the day, for their country had taken another one down…_again. _ But the Frenchmen resisted losing their spirit. Throughout the day they sang patriotic songs nearly bellowing _La Marseillaise._ But Haussler had them stopped eventually. The guards were annoyed that their prisoners were not squelched by the fact that they were now from an occupied country. So, the guards moved onto the British prisoners, antagonizing them with tales of how Britain was next. There were no more organized British units fighting. This was taken with mixed emotions by the British prisoners. They were glad that most of their boys had gotten away, but now they knew that the United Kingdom was alone in the fight. The attitude from the Nazis did not help their futile hopes. The Nazis were very optimistic that Britain would be on her knees in a few months' time. The British kept up their spirits, though, that they would resist. And together, the prisoners mentally battled the guards. They would not be swayed that the times were hopeless.

The trek through Germany did not turn out to be as bad as the prisoners originally thought it would. It seemed that Haussler and his men did not want to come into contact with anyone unless it was impossible not to. The prisoners were grateful for this. They were not sure about how German civilians would react to them. They had had their fair share of propaganda as well, and had heard that the civilians were brutal. Some prisoners hoped this was only propaganda. Others knew it was probably true in some cases, and not so true in others. Some were less optimistic and kept noting that if it hadn't been for the German civilians, they wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.

Peter was one of those less optimistic prisoners. He was regarding every civilian he saw with deep hatred. Louis tried to be lighter of heart, but found that he could not. Not when all he could think of was that his home was taken over by power hungry Germans. Peter could not fathom as to why these people were doing this. Why were they condoning someone to take over the world? That was not how it was supposed to work. Peter was becoming more irate with every day that passed, because he kept thinking that Britain was next. He would give anything to be home, just to protect his sister. Every time he saw a Nazi soldier flirting with some young girl, he felt like throwing up. He could hardly imagine having them walking around London like that.

Louis knew that they were walking around Paris like that, which only made him more furious. He thought of his sisters, and then the older Nazi soldiers. His father was really in no condition to be protecting all of his girls, who were growing up anyway. They would not always be close by. And his brother was still so young. Also, he had a sickening feeling that if anything happened between the soldiers and the girls, there would be little anyone could do about it. _Filthy Boche. _

Well, the days seemed endless. No prisoners knew where their destination was, and they knew by now not to ask the guards. The guards were more talkative now, and some of them tried to be friendly with the prisoners. But the prisoners did not want to deal with them. Only sometimes would they take a cigarette if offered. But this was only on the march. If Haussler or some other, stricter guard caught you smoking, it was a quick beating. These comforts were not allowed to the prisoners. The prisoners tried to appear more relaxed with the routine, but it was hard. They feared what lay ahead. They feared that the march would be for nothing, and that they would only end up getting shot wherever they ended up.

Peter and Louis grew onto each other even more. They, Luke, Stephen, and Marcel, spent their time together. At night, they exchanged stories about home, and learned about one another's past, if that person was open to tell them.

They all wanted to hear how Peter had gotten out of the barn that night, so he quietly showed him his pencil sharpener and explained his talents. Stephen and Marcel were not very excited to hear that Peter was a bona fide thief, but Luke was mesmerized, especially when Peter performed some simple magic tricks with a coin. Louis did not really care, because he had known about these skills before they had been captured. Peter told them much about his past and how he had come into the service.

Louis shared his skills as a chef, and his dreams for the future. As Louis spoke of his favorite dishes, only Marcel seemed to care. Marcel was from the east of Lyon, which had special dishes of its own. He and Louis talked in English, for the benefit of their British friends, but they could have very well been speaking Greek. The talk about gourmet dishes did not mean anything to the Brits, who knew only three different types of gourmet: Peter knew fish and chips; Luke knew Manchester Pudding; and Stephen knew haggis. Louis was in disgust when he heard how these dishes were made, and how much the Brits enjoyed them.

Marcel told about his home city, Lyon. He said that before he had enlisted, he had been a newspaper reporter, and had dreamed of creating his own newspaper. He told them that he had actually visited Germany in 1937. He spoke German fluently. He said that his stay had actually been very nice, except that he saw some brutal things as well. His hosts had tried to disguise it and hide it from him, but he had seen it or at least noticed it easy enough. He spoke of what he had seen done to the Jews. He also spoke of the rumors about labor camps for the Jews. Marcel had never seen one, but he had seen a lot of vacant houses where people explained that a Jew had lived there. He had enlisted in '39, fearing some kind of invasion was going to take place. He had wanted to be a part of defending his country.

Luke was from Manchester. He had grown up in an upper class family. This shocked Peter. He thought all the rich were not very kind people. 'Bloody toffs' he called them. Luke explained that he was the only boy out of seven children, and the youngest to boot. He had always tried to act tough, because he was the only boy. He had run away to join the military at seventeen, only to find that a year later he would actually be fighting. Now, he admitted, that he didn't care about acting tough or anything. When he had gotten into the fight, he had been scared out of his mind.

Stephen was from a Scottish town called Sterling, not far from Glasgow. He had worked on a sheep farm. His father had been in the Great War. So, when the call for British soldiers was made, Stephen felt that it was his duty to follow in his father's footsteps, even though he had a wife and a baby girl. He only hoped that he could return to Scotland to see them and carry on his family's business. But his Highlander Battalion had gone completely under siege. His platoon had been able to escape from the town, only to be recaptured. The rest they learned were massacred.

Their personalities were quite different as well. Louis was the oldest of them all, at twenty-nine. (1) He was very passionate, with a fiery temper, but watched over them all health wise. If they looked a bit peckish, he always managed to have another piece of bread for them that night. They teased him, calling him a mother hen. Stephen was second eldest, at twenty-seven. He had a lot of good humor and spoke wise words to them whenever they needed to hear some. Peter and Marcel were the same age at twenty-five. (2) Peter was wild and theatrical. He could be wary and brusque with them at times, but mostly he was a happy-go-lucky, who didn't think through things very well. Marcel was almost the opposite. He was very thoughtful and reserved. He never let any of emotions get out of hand, except when he was pushed too far, though they would not witness that very much. And Luke was like their baby brother. He was eighteen, which to them, still made him a boy. He had not seen as many hard days as them, so he was not as hardened. This was refreshing, though, because of his optimism. He was energetic, but considerate. He could perceive what the others were feeling, and would often mold himself to meet their needs. They were all protective of him, since he was the youngest. But since Luke had originally attached himself to Peter, they had the closest bond.

And since Peter and originally attached himself to Louis, they had a very close bond. Louis never showed it, but he felt that he had to protect Peter too. Both in fact, because of how they had met, were compelled to protect one another. But Louis, after having all those younger siblings, felt he had to protect Peter simply because he was younger. Ever since the Cockney had begun to follow him, Louis had become fonder of him. He wanted nothing to happen to him.

One night, when they stopped, Louis looked around him at those he was now becoming close to. It was an odd assortment: a thief, a chef, a rich boy, a sheep herder, and a reporter. But they still had a few things in common: they were young and had all willingly joined the service. They had a patriotic sense towards their beloved countries, and a patriotic hatred toward this enemy. But they were all humane, and treated no man badly unless he deserved it. Their talents and former jobs made them unique to one another. They also had a growing admiration and respect for one another as people.

Soon enough, it was like this with all the prisoners. There were little groups of people who stuck together always. But a lot of the prisoners got to know one another at least by name. Of course, there were a few that were loners, because no one was sure about them. The most famous one among them was Lawrence, but he was quiet. He never talked unless he was spoken to. Many thought he was actually making a turn for the better. Some were kinder towards him but not open with him. He was just grateful to not have anyone forcing him away. When the Nazis saw that, they targeted that man, because they knew he was weaker. The weaker they were, the easier they were to get rid of.

But there were no more gun shots for a fallen man. Those who were left were the strongest, and that meant that they would last longer. One night, three days into Germany, Peter looked around at all the prisoners. They were more relaxed, and even the guards were. Haussler had been leaving them alone. The days were somewhat cooler of late. He kind of thought that maybe things would be okay.

* * *

_(1)(2) I'm sure everyone had their ages for our heroes. I'll just explain mine as best as I can. I always thought Louis looked older than Peter, so that's why I made him older. I know that they did not look this young on the show, but that's because the actors could not really be that young. I just wanted to keep it more realistic, and that they would be younger POWs. We can't help it if the actors look rather older. _


	9. The First Attempt

**Chapter Nine: The**** F****irst A****ttempt**

June 25, 1940

Louis woke up, feeling rather refreshed. As usual, he woke up before they were supposed to. He woke up looking at the morning sky, seeing a few stars that had yet to be swept away by the rays of the sun. Sitting up, he looked directly east. The sun was just peeking over the sky. He brushed some grass off his uniform and picked up his beret. Dusting it off as well, he placed it on his head. He got up, careful not to wake up any of his companions. He stepped over Stephen, and headed towards the ditch, to relieve himself. The guards did not bother with him.

As he returned back to where he had been sleeping, a few other early birds were rising. One Frenchman saw him, and waved him over. He looked over at the guards, but they did not say anything. So, he walked over to his fellow countryman. He knelt down beside him.

The other man shook Louis's hand and introduced himself. "I am Sergeant Adrien LaGrande.

"Corporal Louis LeBeau," introduced Louis.

"_Oui_, I know," said LaGrande. "You are the Englishman's friend."

Louis smiled. "_Oui_."

"But that is not what I called you over here for," explained LaGrande. "I suppose that since you are here, you chose not to escape last night."

Louis looked back at him with incomprehension. "What? What are you talking about? There was an escape last night?"

"_Oui_," said LaGrande happily. "I almost went, but there were guards too close to me. It was a lot of men from over there." He pointed to the other side of where the prisoners lay. "Mostly French."

Louis smiled. "That is good. How many?"

"I think fifteen," replied LaGrande.

"Fifteen," whispered Louis, amazed. "How did the guards not notice?"

"They went out in pairs and ones, I heard," said LaGrande. "Other prisoners distracted the guards."

Louis frowned. "They did not want to go, though?"

"_Non_," he said. "A few of them did go when the guards were looking the other way. One of them was Captain Lawrence."

Louis scowled at the name. "Well good riddance."

"_Oui_," said LaGrande. "But he distracted the guards well. Maybe he deserved to go."

"Maybe," said Louis. "But as long as he is gone. But now, I will worry about Haussler. He won't be happy."

"_Oui_," agreed LaGrande. "But we have dealt a blow to the Nazis. Besides, he cannot kill us. We are protected by the Geneva Convention."

"He has killed many already," said Louis. "All of those who fell behind. If we were really protected by the Geneva Convention, many of them would still be here."

LaGrande nodded. "True, but I will take whatever punishment to have those men free."

"_Oui_," said Louis. "As long as we do not get killed." He shook LaGrande's hand. "_Au revoir_."

"_Au revoir_," said LaGrande.

Louis turned and casually walked back to where the others were. Most of the men were waking up by now. When he got back to where he had been sleepin he was not surprised to find Peter still very asleep with the others wide awake. They were talking in whispers to one another. Louis nodded to them when he sat down. He turned to Peter and shook him awake.

"What are you doing," asked Luke.

"I need to tell you all something," explained Louis.

Peter was lying on his side, and rolled over to look at Louis with bleary eyes.

"Time to go," he asked, stifling a yawn.

"_Non_," said Louis. "But I have to tell you something. Get up."

Peter looked annoyed, but rubbed his eyes and sat up. He scooted over to sit by Luke. Louis sat on the other side of him. Everyone looked at him expectantly.

"There was an escape last night," he said simply.

They all exploded, but quietly. He shushed them up and then quickly explained what he knew to them. They listened intently. And with how others were talking around them, the word of the escape had spread. Now they all had to wait until Haussler found out, which everyone was dreading.

"Blimey," said Peter after Louis finished. "'E'll blow 'is spigot. An' we'll get 'it wif it."

"Yea," said Stephen. "I mean, he cannae go recapture them. We're supposed tae keep movin'."

"You think he'll do something bad to us," asked Luke worriedly.

"_Oui_," said Marcel. "But I do not think 'e will kill us."

"I sure 'ope not, mate," said Peter. "Wif the way things 'ave been goin' lately, I was finkin' that we might all make it to the camp."

"_Oui_," said Louis. "But this will set us back." He looked around, noticing that the prisoners were either sitting silently with worried looks on their faces, or talking continuously and nervously. Everyone knew something was going to happen to them.

Then, the guards were walking among them, giving them their water. They knew it was almost time to go. They all drank their share quickly and got up. After their water, it was understood that they were to go to the road and line up. Guards were already there, waiting for them. They all lined up obediently. When everyone was lined up, the guards began to count. Haussler walked up to the front, waiting with his horse to get started.

The prisoners watched as the lead guard finished his counting. As he got closer to the last man, he began to pale, realizing that there were not enough men to reach the right number.

"_Sergeant_," called Haussler. "_Was is los?_ Count the men and report."

"Excuse me, _Herr Hauptmann_," said the Sergeant. "But some of the prisoners were not in line when I began. Let me recount."

Haussler nodded, not suspicious of anything at the moment. But he carefully watched as his Sergeant counted the prisoners. He also noticed how the prisoners did not try to mess the Sergeant up; the prisoners actually seemed tense and nervous about something. Haussler suddenly realized what this must mean: an escape. But he kept his cool. He did not want to over react, because he needed to keep his own men in check, and he wanted to remain thoroughly stoic around the prisoners. Of course, he did not realize just how many prisoners had actually gone missing.

The Sergeant got to the end of the line and went even paler. No, he had not made a mistake. There were indeed several prisoners missing. He looked at the last man who gave him an apologetic look. The Sergeant turned halfway towards his commanding officer, coming eye to eye with some of his fellow guards. They were all throwing him sympathetic looks because he had to tell Haussler how many prisoners were missing. The Sergeant sighed and straightened up. He had to do it. He stoically walked to Haussler, came to attention, and saluted.

"Out with it," said Haussler.

The Sergeant felt somewhat relieved. The officer knew something was up.

"_Herr Hauptmann_," said the sergeant. "There are seventeen prisoners missing!"

Haussler's eyes went wide. "Seventeen?"

The men whispered to one another, trying to figure out what number had been said. When Marcel, who knew German, finally spoke up, revealing the number to be seventeen, the prisoners passed the word around to each other.

"Oh Laird," said Stephen. "Look at him. He wasnae expectin' that many tae be gone."

"We're in for it, mates," said Peter. No one disputed that.

The whispers died down, and all eyes were on Haussler. He quickly regained his composure.

"_Danke Sergeant_," he said.

The Sergeant saluted and quickly stepped aside. Haussler looked at the two lines. Most of the prisoners had their heads down or were looking away. They did not want to meet his gaze. He started walking between them, looking at them all carefully. He stopped about halfway.

"They were Frenchmen," he stated in English. Looking at the prisoners, he raised his voice. "Am I right?!"

A terrible silence followed. He looked around at all of them again. Suddenly, a brave you Englishman stepped forward and with a cheeky salute said: "Actually, sah, there were two British officers who went as well."

Everyone looked from Haussler to the Englishman with uncertainty. But Haussler just glared at him. "Get back in line," he growled.

The Englishman saluted again, and stepped back quickly.

"Well, I wonder if they would return," said Haussler, loud enough for all to hear. "You see, being in Germany presents a problem to them. Maybe they will realize that and return. (1) Then again, maybe not. Well, if they do not return, then some of you will not go on after today. If the seventeen do not return by the time we stop this evening, then seventeen of you will be shot in their place."

There were a few audible gasps at this, but most were too shocked to make a sound. Most kept their mouths shut simply because they had no desire to draw attention to themselves. It would be mostly a random pick anyway. Haussler began pointing to prisoners, eyes just scanning the crowd and falling on an unfortunate one for no particular reason except that he decided to stop there. The Sergeant wrote down the name and rank of each man that was picked, so that he could not escape the execution later. Everyone prayed that it would not be them. The odds were for them, because seventeen out two hundred and seventy-two made it a slim chance that they should be it. But every time a prisoner was picked, the color left his face. They were certain it was a death sentence.

Peter, Louis, and their small posse were sure they were out of harm's way, because they were close to the end. They did not think Haussler would make it that far. But it wasn't so. Haussler was looking for a few familiar faces. He spotted Peter and went right to him.

"Ah, our good Samaritan," he said.

Peter snorted at the irony, and glared at Haussler.

"I would be quiet if I were you," warned Haussler. "But I should not worry, by tomorrow, you will be as dead as a doornail, and I will not have to hear your voice ever again."

"If I find a way to come an' 'aunt you, I will," said Peter. "An' don't tell me you don't believe in that stuff, because ole _Herr Hitler_ is a superstitious bloke."

Haussler glared. "Then I will cut out your tongue before I kill you."

Peter just blinked. He could feel his unemotional mask slipping, but he wouldn't dare before Haussler.

"Well," said Haussler casually. "You are number sixteen. That means I need one more lucky fellow." He scanned the men around Peter. "How about one of your little friends here?"

Peter stepped in front of Luke, who was right beside him. "You leave them alone."

Haussler pushed Peter aside, and looked at Luke. "I do remember you. You were the terrified little swine who would not utter a word when that officer did." He looked around again. "Wait a minute, that officer is gone. Ahhh, so he escaped as well. Well, no matter. But anyway, I think you will do well for number seventeen." He pointed to Luke.

"Me," asked Luke weakly.

"_Ja_, you," said Haussler. "Are you blind and deaf? I pointed to you and said you."

Luke stared at him in disbelief, but Haussler did not say another word. Instead, he quickly went to the front of the line, giving the order to move out. He climbed up onto his horse and rode swiftly up the road.

The prisoners did not move at first. It took some prodding of the guards to get them moving. They were all in some sort of silent daze, whether it be a daze of sorrow or a daze of gratefulness. There were seventeen that were in a great deal of sorrow. Peter remained still until Stephen pushed him from behind. The Scotsman threw an arm around his shoulders and guided his footsteps. Luke kept pace directly behind them, with his head down. Marcel put a comforting hand on his shoulder, letting the younger man know that he was there.

Behind them, Louis's brow was furrowed in worry. He was about to lose two of his friends. He couldn't let it happen. There had to be something he could do. Maybe he could help them escape. But then only more would die. How could they all live? Then, it struck him: if all the seventeen escapees came back, then the seventeen walking-dead could live. This would mean a great deal of sacrifice for the seventeen escapees. But maybe if he could get to them somehow, and persuade them, he could get them back. He looked around; now was not the time. The guards were extremely alert. He would have to wait for the right moment before he could dart away. He would patiently wait for it. While his friends consoled one another, he drifted back to the end of the line. They never noticed that he was not behind them anymore.

***** ***** *****

About half an hour later, they came to a large town that could not be avoided. Haussler had no desire whatsoever to bring his charges through, but he had no choice. They came to a halt about half a mile outside of the town. Haussler sent four of his men into the town to contact the local police so that they could keep the prisoners away from the townspeople more easily.

The prisoners were nervous. They had no idea of what to expect from the German civilians. The only German civilians they had ever seen had been from a distance because Haussler had been determined to keep them away. The prisoners had heard their own bit of propaganda about the civilians but no one knew how much of it was really true. But they could tell the guards were rather testy. This gave the prisoners the message that this could be a hostile town for them.

Right before they moved on, word came from the back that a few of the escapees had returned. No one told the guards, who were preoccupied with keeping the prisoners in line before moving into the town. When Louis heard of this, he dropped behind to talk to the returned escapees.

Finally, Haussler's four guards returned and they continued their march towards the town.

Peter found himself feeling horribly depressed as they entered the town. The atmosphere did not help any either. Despite the help of the local police, the streets were crowded with the townspeople who wanted to see the prisoners and give them hell. The citizens jeered at them, but the young people were the worst. Through the guards and police they pushed at the prisoners and called them horrible names, taunting them all the time for being weak and inferior. The prisoners knew that the civilians were trying to antagonize them into retaliating, but the prisoners were already in enough trouble and had no desire to get into anymore. They still wished they could get back at the civilians, though.

When they came into a particularly skinny street, they found themselves squeezing through the crowds, with guards nearly on top of them. It was chaos. Above, Nazi flags were being waved from the windows. Some Hitler Youth boys were burning a French flag. When Peter saw it, he tried to look for Louis, but he could barely turn his head to look behind him. But the prisoners were holding on to one another anyways, so as not get pulled away. Peter had a fistful of Luke's battledress jacket, and Luke was holding onto Stephen. Peter had pushed Luke in front of him so as to be able to see him. He did not want to lose the young man in here. Peter could feel Marcel's hand on his shoulder, tightly holding on. But Peter could not see behind Marcel to see where Louis was. He only assumed he was holding onto Marcel. Marcel felt someone holding onto him, and never thought to look back to see who it was. He assumed it was Louis as well. But it was not; it was some other young soldier trying not to get separated from the line.

Suddenly, some boys began to push real hard against the police. The local police were not doing much to stop the civilians; the guards were making best efforts they could, but were awfully outnumbered. The boys continued to push until they came into direct contact with the prisoners. One of them tripped Stephen, and pushed him on the way down. Luke had nowhere to step and stumbled over Stephen and hit the pavement as well. The boys who had done the damage began to pile on top of them.

This attack was the incentive for the prisoners to forget all reserve of emotions. The guards and police could do nothing to stop what happened. Peter and Marcel jumped in on the boys who had attacked Stephen and Luke. They helped their friends up and the four got back to back, ready to protect and defend one another, but also not afraid of pulling an attack of their own. The civilians got testier and then started to attack all the prisoners head on. But the civilians were in for quite a surprise. They thought they were dealing with some weakened and scared prisoners. However, they were dealing with two hundred and seventy-two hardened and trained soldiers who _had_ _not_ forgotten their hand-to-hand combat training. Not to mention all the training they had gained just because they were men who had probably been in a few fist fights before the war during their own civilian days. So, a lot of the Hitler Youth kids who had thought they were rough and tough and superior to the Allied soldiers found themselves being straightened out by hard Allied fists. The prisoners were teaching those civilians that they were still soldiers of their countries; that they would not be diminished to animals just because they were being treated that way.

The Nazi soldiers regained control only about five minutes after the brawl began. Blowing whistles didn't do the trick, but when they started firing their automatics into the air, that caught everyone's attention. They still had to separate some groups of soldiers and boys, but it was quickly done. The guards were annoyed, and didn't mind who they were striking with their rifles. If they hit some civilian instead of the prisoners, they hardly batted an eye. They wanted to get on with their job; there was still a lot of ground to cover. Finally, when all of the prisoners were separated from the civilians, the guards told the police to get everyone inside. Eventually, it was only the prisoners and their guards left on the streets.

Haussler gave everyone some time to regain their composure. The prisoners and guards brushed themselves off and straightened themselves up. They were now all sporting some kind of bruise or cut indicating that they had taken part in the brawl. Haussler decided that he would not come down hard on them for fighting. Secretly, he had hoped that the prisoners would pounce back. Haussler was a military man, and one thing he hated terribly was when civilians got in the way, or thought they were better than soldiers; any soldiers. It did the civilians some good to get a good pounding. Of course, to make their pride hurt more; they were being pounded by captured Allied soldiers.

Peter bent down to pick up his wedge cap which had been torn from his head in the fray. He noticed with some annoyance that the pin of the English crown was hanging on by a thread. He carefully removed it and put the pin in his breast pocket. Feeling that he should not wear the wedge cap without the pin, he folded it and put it underneath his shoulder strap. As he resumed a spot in line with the other prisoners he scanned the street for Louis, but couldn't find him. He looked to Luke.

"'Ave you seen Louis," he asked.

"No," answered Luke. "I don't remember seeing him in the fight either."

Peter searched for him worriedly. Marcel and Stephen came up to them, also looking for Louis.

"Bloody 'ell, where could that Frog 'ave gotten to," asked Peter. Quickly, before they marched, he walked a ways up the line and then back, looking for Louis. But Louis was nowhere to be seen. As he walked back to where he formally was, another Frenchman grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Yea," asked Peter.

"I know where your French friend is," said the Frenchman.

"Where," asked Peter anxiously.

"'E left," answered the Frenchman.

"Wot," exclaimed Peter. "Wot do you mean 'e left?"

"Just that," replied the Frenchman. "'E escaped."

"I don't believe you," spat Peter angrily.

"I saw it," stated the Frenchman, just as angrily. "I saw him scoot out of the back of the line right before we entered the town."

Peter was struck silent with disbelief for a moment. "Well, why didn't you stop 'im? Doncha know this means someone else is goin' to get killed for this?"

The Frenchman shrugged. "I was not one of the seventeen. And 'e was a fellow countryman. I would not spoil 'is escape by pointing 'im out to _le Boche_."

Peter was refrained from saying anything else since the march was restarted. He went back to his pace in line, dumbfounded. The others noticed his look of betrayed astonishment.

"Did you find out where he is," asked Luke.

Peter nodded, but didn't speak.

"Well," asked Stephen. "Where is the little guy?"

""E escaped," said Peter softly. He glared at nothing in particular. "'E left us."

The others were just as shocked.

"But…but why," asked Luke. "I don't understand. I thought he was our friend."

"_Non_," said Marcel with conviction. "I will not believe it. Who told you this?"

"Another bloody Frog," answered Peter bitterly shooting Marcel a sharp look.

Stephen laid a hand on his shoulder, both of warning and comfort. "Now wait. Ye cannae be gettin' mad at every Frenchman now. Ye know wot they say: there's one in every crowd."

Peter sighed. He looked at Marcel more kindly, but there was no doubt that he was furious.

"Sorry, mate," said Peter. "I'm just 'avin' a 'ard time keepin' me emotions in check right now."

Marcel gave a weak smiled. "I understand. But if one of my countrymen tell you that, then it must be true."

"I don't understand," repeated Luke. He did not appear to be listening to the older men's conversation.

Peter looked at Luke, and his anger almost deflated completely. The youngest man of their group seemed lost and had a look on his face as if he had been punched. Well, that was one way to put it. They felt like they had all been stabbed in the back, but especially Peter and Luke. Peter felt like he had been dealt the lowest blow of betrayal. When he needed Louis the most, he was gone. What made it worse was that Louis had escaped when the very reason Peter and Luke were going to be executed was because prisoners were escaping. That crushed Peter more than he dared to let on. Looking at Luke, he decided he needed to be strong for the younger man.

"I don't really understand it either, mate," said Peter softly, throwing an arm over Luke's shoulders. He pulled him close. "I guess 'e just did one big snowjob over us." As he said it, he felt a deep sadness in his heart. What was coming over him? It was just one more person who had left him stranded…one more person who had lied about ever caring for him.

Stephen and Marcel looked at one another. They too felt terrible, because it had never crossed their minds that Louis would escape, especially at a time like this. They saw that their younger friends were finding it hard to cope with. The march resumed, and Peter and Luke looked even more lost…in their hearts and mind. Stephen pulled Peter aside, and they dropped back a bit from Marcel and Luke. Peter looked at Stephen.

"Do you understand," he asked Stephen.

Stephen shook his head. "No. I cannae understand people like that. I just know tae look oot for 'em. But then, like ye said, we get the wool pulled over our eyes, an' we miss 'em. I was just as fooled as ye."

"But," Peter struggled to find the right words; he was not one to open up. "But 'e seemed to care so much about us. 'E was always takin' care o' us an' watchin' over us. I mean, 'e saved me life when I first met 'im. I always thought 'e was a good guy."

"Me tae," said Stephen. "But we were fooled. A good friend wouldnae desert 'is mateys right before they were tae be shot."

Peter froze and his eyes went wide. "Cor Blimey!"

Stephen pushed him on, so that they wouldn't attract a guard's attention. "Sorry," he whispered, feeling stupid. "I shouldnae have said that. That was very premature o' me."

Peter shook his head. "No. It's just, well, things 'aven't been too bad lately. I thought I might make it frough all o' this. Make it to the camp, an' be able to settle in for the duration." He sighed. "It's rather unexpected, it is."

"Ye know," said Stephen. "Now, this probably won't comfort ye a bit, but me da use tae say that when God pulls yer number up tae join him, it's goin' tae happen. Of course, me da was talkin' aboot accidents and such…not bein' shot. However, maybe not everythin' is unexpected. God knows wot he's doin'."

"Well," said Peter. "I was never one to follow God around like the lost sheep I'm supposed to be. But if it means not bein' executed at dusk, then I'll start prayin'."

Stephen chuckled softly, but it trailed off. He looked up at Peter. There were tears brimming on his eyes.

"I feel all alone," Peter whispered, as he swallowed a sob.

Stephen looked heavenward. "I will never leave you or forsaken you." (2)

"I 'ope not," replied Peter, having no idea what Stephen was referring to. But they sounded like good words. He sort of leaned on Stephen. The older man put an arm around Peter's shoulder and let him lean for as long as he needed to.

***** ***** *****

They came to another town in the late afternoon. Haussler had the townspeople kept inside. The prisoners and guards were anxious to get through quickly. They were all becoming testier with each hour that passed, knowing they were only getting closer to the execution. Louis's absence had never been detected by the guards, and only a few prisoners actually knew he had escaped. No one, however, wanted to duplicate his actions.

The atmosphere of the town was dynamically different. The civilians watched from their windows, but there was almost no taunting. There were a lot of curious eyes that just peered at the prisoners. The prisoners could not help but look back. One little boy, about six, waved at them as they passed the shop door he stood in. His mother came and pulled him back, looking almost scared at the prisoners. When they passed the church, the priest was standing out on the steps. As they passed he continuously made the sign of the cross over them. The prisoners were rather shocked. The behavior of the civilians was nothing like they had expected. It was as if the civilians pitied them outright.

As they left the town, Marcel spotted smoke rising from the woods to the east of the town. He pointed it out.

"Look, there must be a fire," he said.

The smoke was dark.

"Someone should let the townspeople know," said Luke. "It might spread."

A few of the prisoners murmured in agreement. Marcel picked up the courage to tell one of the guards. But the guard only looked at the smoke with knowledgeable eyes, and pushed Marcel back into line.

"Do not talk of it," said the guard sternly. "It does not concern you."

They walked in silence for a moment before Luke spoke up. "It smells odd."

"Yea," said Peter. "Maybe they're burnin' some garbage or somethin'."

The prisoners wondered about it for only a short while, and never mentioned it again. If the guard said that it did not concern them, then there was no need to bother.

The day went continued on. Sometime after seven, as they turned a bend in the road, they could see a barn about a mile up ahead. Haussler paused for a moment. He called his Sergeant over, and spoke with him. Marcel tried to listen in, but what he heard made his stomach twist into knots.

"Wot," asked Stephen.

"That is where we are stopping," said Marcel, pointing to the barn.

Word got out, and the prisoners began to move along at a snail's pace. The seventeen began to drop to the back, fear evident in their steps, if not in their faces. Luke wiped his eyes a few times, determined to remain with a brave face. Others did not accomplish that. A few men were sobbing outright.

Peter wanted to join them, but was trying to be strong for Luke. Peter could not get Louis out of his mind, even though he had tried to forget about it all day. He was trying to forget about it because that was not what he wanted to be thinking about when he was lined up in front of a firing squad. He tried to thinking of his sister, and his buddies back home. He tried to think of the lighter days when the war was not even present. He tried to think of his mother, and how she had always been so dignified until the end. But no matter what he thought about, he could not stop thinking that he had been betrayed. He could have cried. He could have fallen to his knees and sobbed until he fell asleep, but he would not allow himself to do it. He was Corporal Peter Newkirk, an English soldier. He had been taught better; by the RAF and his mother.

After what seemed an eternity, they came to a halt before the barn. No prisoner moved. Haussler demounted from his steed, and called the Sergeant to him. Then, the pack mule with the rations was brought up and the prisoners were given their bread and water, standing there in the road. Peter looked at his watch. They should have kept going for another hour. But he wasn't surprised. Haussler wanted them gone. A lot of the prisoners gave up half of their bread and sent it to the back where the seventeen had gathered.

Then, the names of the seventeen men were being called out. The first man did not move until the guards came and got him. But he was not shot then. They were being lined up on the wall. Last were Peter and Luke.

"Take care o' yourself, mates," said Peter, shaking their hands. "Go back to your little girl, Mac."

"I will," said Stephen.

Luke hugged them both, and thanked them. For what, no one asked.

They left the two men reluctantly. Haussler watched them walk up with an evil smirk. Peter protectively stood in front of Luke and shot Haussler a glare; if looks could have killed, Haussler would have died instantly. Luke finally could not hold it in any longer. Tears began to stream down his cheeks. Peter now found himself without tears to shed even if he had wanted to. Suddenly, he was overcome with a mental peace. But that did not keep his heart from beating quickly as he put his back to the wall. Looking beside him, he gave Luke a hearty wink.

"We did well, mate," he said. "We'll see each other on the other side."

Luke just nodded, and Peter wished he could have been able to say more, to comfort the younger man. But he could not find anything else to say. He looked in front of him when he saw Haussler arranging the firing squad. They weren't that far away, only about twenty yards. But his head was filled with images of his sister and mother, and friends from home. He could see London, and the pubs he was always in and out of. But then, he saw Louis, smiling at him that day they had made their truce.

_Why? Why did you leave me?_

Haussler was giving the order to aim…Peter swallowed and closed his eyes. Beside him, Luke straightened up.

"WAIT! DON'T SHOOT! DON'T SHOOT! STOP! HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

Peter's eyes popped open and he looked down the road and into the field they had passed. His jaw dropped. There was Captain Lawrence, sprinting down the road, hollering for all he was worth, with his hands up and waving in the air. Behind him, more men were running their way. But Peter only saw one: Louis LeBeau, desperately trying to keep up with Lawrence with his little legs. Peter could have laughed if he wasn't so shocked. But he wasn't the only one. Haussler did not even look mad; just surprised. The prisoners and guards were frozen in place; they could only watch as the escapees came running up to Haussler.

Lawrence came to a skidding halt before Haussler and then gave him a perfect and flamboyant British salute.

"Sir," he said, breathing heavily. "We're all back. You don't have to shoot these men. Punish us how you will, but we're all back. I promise."

Haussler still appeared shocked. But he waved over the Sergeant.

"Line them up and count them," ordered Haussler.

The Sergeant did as he was told. The seventeen that were to be executed remained on the wall on Haussler's orders. They watched with bated breath to see what the result of the Sergeant's counting. He actually had the nerve to count again, and Peter thought he would run over and strangle the man if he went any slower. The other prisoners were waiting just as anxiously. Peter saw Louis watching the Sergeant. Peter still didn't know what to think about the little Frenchman; he was still too surprised about still being alive to think clearly. Finally, the Sergeant was finished. He walked up to Haussler and saluted.

"_Herr Hauptmann_," he said. "All prisoners are present."

They all let out relieved breaths, but no one said a word. They watched Haussler.

Haussler looked at the seventeen lined up on the wall. He swallowed. "You are no longer sentenced to death by firing squad. Sergeant, have the prisoners put out on the field. The guards will be doubled. And have the seventeen escapees brought to me inside the barn immediately." He turned and strode into the barn with his horse behind him.

There was a roar of a cheer from the prisoners. Those on the wall ran back to the line and were met with congratulations. Peter could not think of anything to be more congratulated for. He and Luke quickly found Marcel and Stephen. They just missed Louis, who was being pulled out of line with the returned escapees. In truth, in his moment of elation, Peter had forgotten about Louis. But when they saw the escapees being brought into the barn, Peter watched with mixed emotions.

He was trying to figure out what had happened; what it had all meant. He was glad Louis was back, but had no idea why he was back. He was also confused as to why Lawrence was back as well. Not to mention that the Squadron Leader had been the one running down the road, screaming for Haussler to not execute them. When the returned escapees were in the barn, the remaining guards had the prisoners go out onto the field. They were packed in closer together and the guards were closer together as well, trying to leave no accessible gaps in their perimeter. The prisoners lounged around, no one wanting to go to sleep until the escapees came back out. They wanted to hear everything that had happened.

"I still can hardly believe it," said Luke. "This is a miracle if I've ever seen one."

Peter just nodded, for once unable to say something. Marcel clapped him on the back with a smile.

"What is wrong with you," he asked. "Come on, smile! You are alive!"

Peter smiled weakly. "Yea, but I just wish I knew why." He fell back against the hay.

"Why yer alive," asked Stephen.

"I guess," said Peter. "I mean, why did they come back?"

"Maybe they didn't want us to die," said Luke.

"But 'ow did they even know about that," asked Peter quickly. But then he sat up, realization dawning on his face. "Unless…Louis…'e—"

"Look," cried someone.

They all looked over to barn and saw the returned escapees being released into the field. Each of them was beat up a bit, with bruised faces. Peter stood up, looking straight at Louis. The little Frenchman had two puffy eyes and a busted lip. He looked timidly at Peter.

"Before you say anything, Pierre," he began.

But Peter cut him off when he quickly walked over and hugged him tightly. At first, Louis tensed, but then he let himself sink into Peter's embrace. He returned the hug, and buried his face in Peter's filthy battledress jacket. He sniffed and looked up.

"I am sorry," he began, but Peter cut him off with a wave of his hand. He clasped Louis's shoulder affectionately.

"I'll admit, I couldn't believe that you'd escaped," said Peter. "I thought you'd left us because you could. I thought…I felt like I'd been betrayed…again." Louis looked and felt horrible. "But, Louie, now that I know what you did an' why, I've got to say, I'd never imagined that I'd ever 'ave a friend like you." He smiled. Louis smiled too, and Peter put an arm around his shoulders and guided him over to where they were sitting. "Now, come get some rest. You don't 'ave to tell us anythin' until mornin' if you want. I know you must be tired."

They sat down, and Louis looked at all of them. They had heard what Peter said, and realized as well what Louis had done.

"Yer a good man, matay," said Stephen.

"_Oui_," agreed Marcel. "Few would dare what you did. You 'ave seventeen men who are now in your debt."

"Yea," said Luke. "Anything you need, Louis, you just let me know. It's the least I could do for a chap who saves my life."

Louis looked at Peter, who just nodded with a reassuring smile.

"_Merci beaucoup_," he said. "But right now, I think I will just go to sleep."

Peter patted the small haystack they were sitting by. "Well, there's nothin' like nice, warm, scratchy 'ay when you need it."

They chuckled and Louis fell back against it. In a matter of minutes he was sound asleep. Peter looked around and saw Lawrence sitting aside by himself, wiping some blood from his nose with his hat. Peter waved him over. Lawrence reluctantly came.

"Mind tellin' us wot 'appened," asked Peter in a whisper.

Lawrence sat down. "Well, we escaped in the night. There were only three English in the group. We went on because we had been distracting the guards while the French escaped. We went on together, trying to cover as much ground during the night as possible. When morning came, we slowed the pace down a bit, so as to be more careful about where we were going. Then, a few chaps decided that they wanted to go back, because they knew our chances were so slim. We let them go, and then we moved on. We were going at a snail's pace, though. Everyone was being extra careful. We split into smaller groups too. Then, around 1130 or something, your French friend comes out of nowhere, blabbering on and on about how people were going to get shot because of us. Well, we all got together and listened to him tell about how Haussler had randomly chosen seventeen of you chaps to be shot because of us seventeen escaping. A lot of us, myself included I must admit, were more to just letting it all happen. We wanted to escape real badly. But that little chap would not stop going on about it! He was determined to at least make us feel guilty. Eventually, a bunch of us caved in, because we knew that our chances of making it just a few more miles were slim. A few others, though, were still determined to go on, but that was when he threatened to find a patrol and give us all away. Now, nobody wanted to be captured by someone other than Haussler, because we at least knew that all we would get from him was a beating. So, it became anonymous for us to all return. We went as fast as we could, dodged a few patrols, skirted around a bunch of towns, and managed to figure out which way you'd all gone. I guess we got here just in time."

"You could say that again," said Luke.

"Well, you've got a good friend there, Corporal," said Lawrence, looking at Louis. "I would hang onto him."

"Don't worry," said Peter. "We intend to." He held out his hand to Lawrence. "No 'ard feelin's then, sir?"

Lawrence shook Peter's hand. "Right, Corporal. No hard feelings." He got up. "I think I'll go off to bed then. It's been a long day."

They nodded and watched him go.

"I think I'll get some sleep, too," said Luke. "It has been a rather stressful day."

The others laughed at him, and he curled up in the hay as well.

"No point in stayin' up anyway," said Stephen. "Good night."

"Good night," said Peter and Marcel.

Marcel looked at Peter. "Are you okay?"

Peter nodded. "Yea. Go to sleep. I'm just thinkin'."

Marcel smiled. "Do not 'urt yourself."

Peter pushed him playfully. "Go to sleep you old Frog."

"_Bon nuit_," said Marcel. He lay down on the hay.

Within a few minutes, they were all asleep with Peter left sitting alone. But he was completely at peace. He had the best friends anyone could ask for around him in probably the toughest time of his life. He knew now, that if anymore turmoil should arise, he would not have to face it alone.

Before lying down to finally go to sleep, Peter pulled off his jacket and laid it over Louis. The little Frenchman curled into it some before resuming his restful sleep.

"Thanks, little mate," whispered Peter.

Then, he went to sleep as well.

* * *

_(1) I know it would seem hard to believe that prisoners would return when making an escape, but I've read accounts where on these marches to and from camps, or train stations, prisoners would often dodge in and out of line, especially in a wooded area where it was harder for the guards to keep track of them. This was done to fool the guards mostly, because once they were deep enough in enemy territory, it became difficult for an unprepared prisoner to get anywhere without food, water, and clothing that would help them blend in. So, most often, a prisoner would leave to try and steal food or scavenge and then return before they stopped for the night. Most of the time, the guards never noticed they were gone._

_(2) Hebrews 13:5_


	10. A Change of Scenery

**Chapter Ten: A C****hange ****of**** S****cenery**

July 1, 1940

The following two days after the escape attempt had been slow. They had not covered as much ground, and were forced to stop earlier than usual on both days. The prisoners were relieved and sensed that their march was coming to an end. They heard snippets of news from the guards here and there about a train. Also, they stopped close to towns as well, but still out in the fields.

On the third day, they were marched for half the day and then stopped at a train station outside a larger town, called Mannheim. Actually, the station was not a real station. It was a small platform and building, all run by the Wehrmacht. It seemed that this was where the prisoners would be put onto the trains, keeping them away from civilians. Still, there were civilians who passed by on the road that ran alongside the tracks. They went by on bicycles mostly, and then some trucks. They were mostly farmers, headed into town. The prisoners were made to sit down in lines again, as they had done back in France. They sat out along the track and road.

It was hot, now that it was early afternoon, and the prisoners were grateful when water was passed around again. Each man's body had become accustomed to the rations, and it was easier to cope with each day. They were all skinnier, yet more tolerable to the heat.

The highlight of the wait for the train was when some children came by. There were six of them, and they came running from the across the fields. Two girls, about eight or nine, were running with kites. Two boys, also around the same age, were walking behind, obviously trying not to act as excited as the girls were. Then, another boy and girl, a couple years younger, came walking, hand in hand, true childhood sweethearts. The two boys curiously went up to the Wehrmacht soldiers, who were all smiles towards the kids. One let the boys hold his gun. The girls were handed some chocolate by another soldier, and they shared it with the younger couple. The two young ones were very shy, but the chocolate made them less nervous.

The prisoners, meanwhile, watched the children play. The boys began to act like soldiers and marched around the field in single file. They had a 'shoot out' as well. The two young ones watched from the sideline, their eyes wide at the noises the boys made as they shot at one another with their fingers. The two girls pranced around with their kites. Most of the prisoners, and even the guards were mesmerized by the colorful kites up against the background of the blue sky that was dotted with the slow moving cotton balls.

The children's playfulness was refreshing for the prisoners and guards.

It was not too much longer, though, that a whistle sounded from down the tracks. Haussler, who had been in the little building, came out. The guards' backs went straight, guns up, eyes and ears alert. The prisoners looked up, apprehension swelling at this new point in their journey. The children, sensing a change in the atmosphere, went quiet, and watched the proceedings.

The train came up to the shabby station, and stopped with loud screeches. The first cars were passenger cars, and following them, cattle cars. The prisoners were ordered up, but kept in their lines. Then, the guards went up to the train, and slid the cattle car doors open. Haussler addressed them all again.

"This next leg of the trip is by train," he said. "You will get food now, and later at our next stop. Should anyone find a way to escape, the same consequences as last time follows: however many escape, is how many will be shot. There will be fifty men to a car. This should give you enough room to at least sit. Be thankful for that. Now, get in."

The prisoners were quickly divided up into groups of about fifty. The prisoners tried to make it so that there was less than fifty in each group. The guards, usually very efficient about the numbers, did not bother to count them this time. They seemed to be in a rush. Once a group was made, they were herded into the cars. The prisoners climbed in, helping each other up.

Peter, Louis, Stephen, Marcel, and Luke managed to stay together. Stephen was the last one in, and everyone in the car watched as the door was slid shut, with a foreboding thud. Rays of sunlight crept in through the slits between the boards. As one, they all began to sit down and get comfortable. There was some hay (a thin layer) on the ground that provided nothing but a bad odor. They wondered if it really had been cows that were in here last. Still, the idea of not having to walk anymore was welcomed by the prisoners.

About a half hour later, the train lurched forward. Louis looked out the car through the slits. Outside, a breeze picked up, and the girls' kites went higher than ever. As the train began to leave the station, the boys ran. The train picked up speed, and they kept running as fast as they could. The two younger children watched curiously. Then, with the train's whistle, and a turn in the tracks, the children were no longer seen.

Louis looked back inside the car. Everyone was looking at one another, wondering as to where in the heck they were going to end up now.

"I'm going to sleep," said Luke suddenly.

Some of the men chuckled, but to everyone, that seemed to be the best course of action. They all shifted around some more, resting their heads on each other, and trying to keep their boots out of each other's faces. Soon enough, despite the rough surface, and the train's loud engine, and being able to hear the tracks rush by beneath them, they were on their way to dreamland.

***** ***** *****

July 3, 1940

All thoughts of better travel left the prisoners' heads quicker than they would have liked. After sleeping through the rest of the day and most of the night, they woke up an realized how stuffy the cattle cars were. Then, as the sun rose over them, and the summer heat came up, it became even more uncomfortable. At least, outside, whilst walking, they had been able to feel the breeze every now and then. Also, there came the situation of where to relieve oneself. Finally, a corner was designated, and everyone just did their best to keep away from it. Still, by the time night fell, the car was smelly and nauseating.

They did not stop that night, and the absence of food was felt. It was harder to go to sleep that night, from the smell and the hunger pangs. During the day, they had amused themselves with talk, songs, riddles, and some games that required nothing more than the mind. Peter entertained them some with simple magic tricks, such as making one's dog tags disappear, or pick-pocketing that was supposedly out of his reach. But as night fell, and the feigned optimism died away, the mood became slightly depressing as the unknown in their future grew larger.

The following morning, the prisoners woke up to the screeching of the brakes as the train came to a halt. They peered outside through the cracks, and saw that this time, they were not out it the country. They were in a large city. Civilians and soldiers alike bustled around the platforms. The prisoners had their eyes and noses pressed to the wood, trying to get a look around this German city. The station was covered, of course, so it was difficult to see anything.

"We are in Nuremberg," said Marcel.

"'Ow do you know that," asked Peter. "You been 'ere?"

"_Non_," said Marcel. "But it says Nürnberg Train Station over there on that sign."

Everyone looked.

"Oh," said Peter.

"Wonder what we're doing here," said someone.

"It cannot be good," said Louis.

"Look, there goes the Captain," said Stephen.

Everyone strained to see as Haussler and four of his men strolled from the train and onto the platform. They went up to a pair of SS guards that were overlooking the station. Haussler conversed with them for a few moments and then walked back to the train.

"You think this is just a pit stop," asked Luke. "Or is this it?"

"I sure hope not," said someone. "I wouldn't want to be around all these civilians."

"But we could use some food," said another prisoner. "This is probably just a pit stop. I mean, where are they going to keep a bunch of POWs in a city?"

Others murmured their opinions.

"Look," said Marcel. "There goes 'Aussler again."

Once more, the prisoners shifted around to try and get a glimpse of their captor.

"Maybe 'e'll get 'it by a train," hoped Peter aloud.

They chuckled, and Stephen said: "Now that would be a blessing."

"Look, all of Haussler's men are leaving," said Luke.

"I bet this is just a pit stop," said someone.

"Oh great," said Marcel.

"What," hissed another prisoner.

"It is the SS," answered Marcel. "They are all approaching the train."

"Oh Blimey," said Peter. "I've 'eard about these guys. Read about them in the papers. Real monsters they are. They're like 'Itler's private army."

"I did not know you could read," said Louis.

"Shut up," replied Peter with a playful smack to Louis's arm.

"They _are_ Hitler's private army," stated Captain Lawrence. "They weren't around before the war. I hear that the regular army generals just hate these guys. They're all domestic security, you know. They do a lot dirty work, cleaning up civilians, just so Hitler can do whatever he wants."

"Shh," said Stephen. "Here they come."

The prisoners moved away from the walls of the cattle car as far as they could. They were silent as the shadows of the inspecting SS soldiers flickered by. No one breathed. They listened and tried to decipher through what the Germans said as well. When they passed, Luke nudged Marcel.

"What did they say," he asked.

Marcel shrugged. "Just insults. About 'ow bad it smells, and 'ow food should not be wasted on us."

One prisoner swallowed. "Well, they sure aren't wasting very much."

"You can say that again," replied Peter as his stomach growled. Some of the men chuckled.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, the clank of metal, and the door on the car slid open. The prisoners all turned to the entrance, rubbing their eyes as more light than usual streamed into their musty cattle car. When everyone was able to see, they saw an SS officer, a Lieutenant, and four of his men standing on the ground looking up at them all curiously. In the background, civilians on the platforms paused, their attention captured by the sight of the enemy soldiers in their befuddled state.

The officer smirked and said something to his men, who then laughed. Then, in hesitant English, the officer spoke to them. "You are _hungrig_…hungry…_nein?_"

Marcel pushed forward to the front of the prisoners and nodded. "_Ja. Ja, sehr hungrig. Bitte, haben Sie irgendeine Speise, oder sogar Wasser?_" (1)

The SS men were surprised that the French soldier knew German, and the officer smiled, giving a respectful nod. "Your command of our language is good, Frenchman," he said in German. "Where did you learn it?"

"School," replied Marcel, restraining himself to patience. "I was later a reporter and even went to Germany and wrote editorials to our people about your efficiency and great standards. But then, I was drafted. You would not keep food from a man who was forced to fight, would you? And you must realize, that these men here, we have all been drafted. We did not willingly put ourselves in this situation. We would never have let ourselves be humiliated he

"But you have been," countered the Lieutenant. "You still fought, no? You still killed men of Germany, no?"

"Only out of survival," pleaded Marcel. "You must know. You are a soldier. You understand that in war, it is more of fight for survival than a fight for ideas."

"Not here, in Germany," replied the Lieutenant. "Here, we are proud to fight for our country."

Marcel sighed. "Please, sir, we just ask for food and water. Bread is all we need. But we have not had food in two days."

"Two days," echoed the Lieutenant, thoughtfully. "That is a long time."

"Yes, it is," Marcel readily agreed.

"And since you have gone that long without food, I am sure you will go at least two days more without it," said the Lieutenant. "_Auf Wiedersehen_." And he then promptly shut the door in Marcel's shocked face with the sound of his men's laughter in the background.

Marcel slowly turned around to his comrades. "I tried," he said softly.

Stephen patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, lad. These brutes had planned all along not ter give us any grub."

Peter cursed. "Ruddy monsters. They liked watchin' us beg for it, an' then denyin' it just to see our faces fall. "

The prisoners grumbled more out of anger, but were cut off when they heard someone speaking outside. They moved to the wall facing the platforms so that as many could see as possible. Outside, it was the SS officer speaking to the civilians. The prisoners were all silent, even though most of them could not understand the Lieutenant. When he was done, the civilians went back to their busy lives.

"Wot 'e say," asked Peter, looking to Marcel.

"'E was assuring the civilians that we were just Allied soldiers," explained Marcel. "'E said that we were just passing through and that no one should be alarmed, because we were not staying."

"So it is a pit stop," said Luke.

Louis rolled his eyes. "A pit stop where we were supposed to get food. I bet _le Capitaine_ and 'is men are roaming the streets, buying good food from the restaurants or visiting their families. And when they get back the Lieutenant will tell 'Aussler that we were fed, and then we will move on, and we will still be _tres affamé_."

"Very 'ungry," asked Peter, guessing at the French.

"_Oui_," snapped Louis. "Very 'ungry."

Unfortunately, Louis was right. Haussler returned with his guards about three hours later, and after briefly speaking to the SS Lieutenant, the Wehrmacht soldiers boarded the train again. And as the train's engine rumbled and chugged to a start, and they were leaving the station, the prisoners' stomachs rumbled with displeasure, once again denied just a little comfort from a soft piece of bread and a drop of water.

* * *

(1) Translation: Yes, yes, very hungry. Do you have any food, or even water?

**Yes, POWs did take trains just like people in the Holocaust. However, they were not packed in as tightly as Holocaust victims were.


	11. The Soft Side

Before I go on, I wanted to make sure that everyone understood that Newkirk and LeBeau are not going straight to Stalag 13. I've said it in the story already, but I perceive from the reviews that some people may have not caught that. Hope you continue to enjoy the story.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: The**** Soft**** Side**

They hardly got out of the station before the train began to slow down. The prisoners immediately felt the difference, and started looking around as well as they could from the cars. Marcel gave a cry.

"_C'est Capitaine 'Aussler_," he exclaimed.

There was a quick and crushing migration to that side of the car, as everyone tried to peer throughthe slits. Marcel went on making his report to those who could not see.

"_Il marche de retour au patform...il paraît fâché. Il est! Regarder le montant à cet officier de boche qui est venu par plus tôt. Le Capitaine a l'air d'il le tuera! Mon Dieu—_"

"OI! Speak English you ruddy Frog!"

Marcel turned around to look at Peter hotly. "I said—"

"Shhhh," said Luke without looking at them. "Look, the SS officer is ordering his men to do something. He looks mad himself, but definitely not as mad as Haussler."

Outside, the SS Lieutenant who had taunted the prisoners before was now watching two of his men march off quickly. The Lieutenant looked back at Haussler, appearing annoyed, but unable to do anything about it. Haussler then turned back to the train, and was motioning for some of his own men to come out. The prisoners watched as at least a platoon came into view from the passenger cars. They listened to Haussler's orders, which the prisoners were unable to hear over the noise of the train station, and then turned to do his bidding.

"_Ils viennent ici!"_

"Wot?"

"They're coming over here," translated Louis. He pushed away from the door, tugging Peter away with him. There was another mass migration, this time away from the door. Everyone froze when they heard the familiar clink of the hatch being unlocked. The door was slid open, and the prisoners stared down at two of their own Wehrmacht guards.

"Hungry," asked one.

"_Ja,_" replied everyone quickly and eagerly. Marcel stifled a laugh, realizing he had just taught all of his comrades their new favorite word. Still, they all wondered if this was just another tantalizing trick.

The guards exchanged looks, appearing amused by the prisoners' behavior.

"Vell," said one of the guards. "Zat is _gut_. _Hauptmann Haussler_ vas very angry zat ze _Schutzstaffel Leutnant_ did not feed you."

"Really," asked someone. "_Him_? He was angry that _we_ didn't get fed. But I thought he didn't like us. I thought he wanted us dead."

The other guard shrugged. "You haf made it zis far. Maybe he zinks you ought to live now."

"That's perfectly alright wif me, mate," said Peter. "S'long as I'm alive, right? So where's the grub?"

"Grub," asked one of the guards, confused.

"The food," exclaimed Luke. "Where's the food?" He gave them both a good natured smile. The guards could not help but smile back.

"It is coming," assured one. "_Hauptmann Haussler_ made ze _Leutnant's_ men go get it. Zey vere supposed to, after all."

The prisoners grinned, glad to hear that _someone_ was getting punished for having not take care of _them…them…_just _prisoners_ of the mighty Third Reich. There was a very foreign sense of pride creeping amongst the prisoners now, that they were being guarded by Haussler and not the rude and taunting SS Lieutenant. Mind you, they remembered how Haussler had treated them before, and were at first wary that it might all be a trick. They remembered how the guards had boasted of their victories as well, and when the guards offered the prisoners cigarettes, they were slow to put them to their mouths. Still, once they spotted the bread coming along with canteens, they could remember more of how Haussler had helped them fight against the civilians when they were attacked in the hostile town, and how he had been more than merciful for the seventeen escaped prisoners who had returned obediently.

It was odd, this feeling of pride, and they were wary even of that. It was especially so with those who bore marks of Haussler's club or fist. Still, when one was given what they most desired after such long torment, they could not help but be pleased with how their captors had delivered. Soon enough, the prisoners were munching happily on two pieces of fresh bread each, and enjoying a good deal of more water than they had in one serving before. Haussler and his men were ever alert towards the prisoners, but it appeared that the prisoners were too busy eating to think of an escape. Besides, it would be useless to in a crowded and guarded train station. They would likely be shot before even getting to the platform.

The food and drink was short lived, though the full feeling in their stomachs and the wetness in their mouths lingered on. The prisoners' morale was boosted especially as they watched Haussler give the SS Lieutenant one last dressing down before departing again. While they could, the prisoners tried hard to clean out the cars. But once again, the doors were slammed shut, and they heard the lock and keys clank together as the guards ensured no escape.

"Well, with all that food, I think I'll turn in for the day," said Stephen. He began spreading out and making himself comfortable for a long nap.

"_Moi aussi_," said Louis.

The train started off again and the men began getting into their positions of comfort to try and get back to sleep.

Peter lay back against one wall. Louis lay against him on his right, and Luke on his left.

"Just make yourself comfortable," said Peter sarcastically.

Luke and Louis chuckled. Then they burst out laughing uncontrollably as Stephen and Marcel made a pillow out of Peter's legs.

"No problem," said Stephen.

"_Oui_," said Marcel. "It was so nice of you to offer Pierre."

"I didn't bloody offer anythin' you Frog," grumbled Peter, but he could not keep the smile off his face as Luke and Louis laughed harder. "Wot's wrong wif you two? Did you nick your funny bone?"

Luke just laughed harder.

"_Je sais pas_," said Louis. "_C'est pas amusante._"

"I know it's not funny," said Peter. "That's why I'm askin—" He paused, a look of horror and shock coming over his face. "Blimey! I just understood wot you said! Oh, bloody 'ell!"

Everyone laughed at that, and even Peter started laughing. It was all really stupid; they were laughing over nothing. Just the chance of laughter had caught them and it was spreading like wildfire. Everyone laid back and started talking, and now everything was funny. And who would have thought, that they would be pulling out of Nürnberg on that stinky ole train, laughing like crazy hyenas that had got too much sun?


	12. Final Destination

**Chapter Twelve: F****inal**** D****estination**

July 4, 1940

"Where do you think we are now," asked Louis.

Peter looked down on his right, where Louis had fallen asleep against him. It was early in the morning, but everyone had lost track of time. Peter shrugged. "Dunno. We could be anywhere. It looks all the same to me."

"'Ave you been awake long," asked Louis.

"About an 'our," answered Peter. "The sun will be risin' in a few more or less."

"I 'ope not," said Louis. "The night is better in this car. It is not as 'ot."

"_Oui, oui_ to that," replied Peter with a scoff.

Louis smiled and straightened up, so that he leaned against the wall beside Peter. "Are you okay?"

Peter looked at the Frenchman. "I'm fine. Well other than bein' a prisoner o' war an' bein' shipped around like a ruddy cow, I'm doin' fine. Why?"

"You just look sad," observed Louis.

"Well, I am," stated Peter. "That falls under bein' a prisoner o' war an' bein' shipped around like a ruddy cow."

"Okay, besides that," said Louis.

Peter shot him an annoyed glare. "Wot d'you want? Are you okay?"

"_Non_," said Louis. "I am not. You know why? Because I wonder what will become of all of us when we get to wherever we are going. I am scared because I am sure we will all be separated, and I worry that if I lose anymore friends, then I will give up."

"You," asked Peter, sounding worried. "You wouldn't give up."

"'Ow do you know," asked Louis. "Are you some kind of psychic Nazi?"

"No," answered Peter, trying to control his voice. "But I know you. And you wouldn't give up. You're stronger than anyone I've know. Well, maybe me Mum. But wot I mean is, you've never given up before, wot would make you give up now?"

"Being separated from you, Luke, Marcel, and Stephen," answered Louis in a strained voice. It sounded much more strained in the whispers they were keeping their voices at.

"That would stop you," asked Peter, sounding astounded. "Look, if that's wot stops you than you're weaker than I thought. Listen, we probably _will_ be separated, because we're from different countries. But you'll still 'ave Marcel, and you'll both meet new people cause we sure as 'ell aren't the only POWs out there that 'ave been captured by Jerry. Also, think o' this chance you've been given. _You're alive! _You could very well be as dead as a ruddy doornail, lyin' out in some field in France. But for some reason, we lived. An'…well I'm not very big on purposes in life, but I know better than to throw away a chance when I've been given one. Maybe you were never given a second chance before, but this is my third, an' I ain't lettin' it get away from me."

Louis smiled, and shifted his weight some, so that he was more comfortable.

"I knew there was more," he murmured.

"More," asked Peter.

"More to you," replied Louis.

"Than wot," asked Peter accusingly.

"More than your suspicions and worry," answered Louis. "Just promise me something."

"Yea?"

"_You_ will not give up."

There was a moment of silence.

"I promise."

"_Merci_. That is all I needed to hear."

***** ***** *****

Stephen woke up coughing, and he was not the only one. The conditions of the car were beginning to weigh down on some of the prisoners. By the time they were all awake, people were coughing and wheezing. The heat bore down on them the further the sun rose in the sky, and especially in the afternoon. They grew tired, even though they were not moving, and the stuffy cattle car seemed to just grow smaller and more unbearable for everyone.

Marcel gave Stephen a handkerchief, and the older Scot muffled his coughs into it. Luke would hit him on the back every now and then to help Stephen get whatever was in him out. The healthy prisoners could only watch as more of their comrades deteriorated around them.

Finally, when delirium and exhaustion was thought to overcome them all, the train began to stop. Peter was sure he would have missed it if not for the screeching of the trains' wheels. Louis had fallen asleep again, and was slouched against his shoulder. He shook him gently.

"C'mon Louie," he said, his voice hoarse. His jaw felt heavy and his tongue limp. He felt like he was learning how to talk again. "We're stoppin'." He shook Louis again, and the Frenchman's head lolled to one side, but he made no response.

"Louie?"

Peter shifted, and Louis fell into his lap. He looked a bit pale, and Peter's heart began racing. He shook Louis again. "Louie! Wake up!" He shook harder. "Please!"

Luke and Marcel looked over. "What's wrong," asked Luke.

"'E won't wake up," replied Peter, his eyes never leaving Louis. Shakily, he put two fingers to Louis's neck. He dared not breathe while he felt for a pulse. For a moment, time stopped. Then, he sighed in deep relief when he felt a steady pulse. "Okay, you're alive. Now, _get up_." He shook Louis harder and with more determination.

"His body is givin' up withoot the food," stated Stephen. He coughed a few times and turned his head away.

"But why," asked Peter, continuing to shake Louis. "We're all fine. Well, awake at least. An' 'e was fine earlier. I was talkin' to 'im!" He looked down at Louis determinedly. "Wake up!" He patted the Frenchman on the cheek a few times. That elicited a response. Louis's brow furrowed together and he moaned.

"Louie? Louie? C'mon, just say somethin'."

Louis gave another groan and his eyelashes fluttered open. He groggily looked up. "_Que?_"

"_Le train a arrêté_," said Marcel, quickly. He thought Louis would understand the situation better in his native language.

Louis frowned and slowly sat up. Peter helped him, and Louis looked at the Englishman with confusion. "You said that?"

Peter's eyebrows rose up in surprise. "Me? No. That was Marcel."

Louis nodded and rubbed his eyes. "I thought maybe a miracle 'appened."

Luke, Marcel, and Stephen laughed, which sent Stephen into a coughing fit. Peter scowled at first, but then smiled when Louis smiled at him. "Sorry, mate. No miracles today."

"We are alive," said Louis, looking at Peter pointedly.

Peter smiled. "Yea, we are, aren't we?"

The cattle car door slid open. "_Raus! Raus! Schnell!"_

"I'm goin' to take a wild stab at that, an' say they want us to get out o' this train quickly," said Peter, whilst glaring at the guards outside.

"Correct," exclaimed Marcel. "Someone get this man a 'undred dollars!"

Some of the men chuckled as they began getting out of the train. It was slow moving, despite the guards' calls. The sunlight was hard on their eyes which were used to the dim light of the cattle car. Outside, their legs felt wobbly for not having been used in four days. Some of the sicker men needed to be guided away from the train, and leaned heavily against their comrades.

Peter and Louis and their group were one of the last ones out, since they had been against the opposite wall. Marcel helped Stephen out who was coughing at every quick motion he made. Luke youthfully jumped out as if he had never been cooped up. Peter helped Louis out. When Louis hit the ground, he started swaying. Peter instantly grabbed both of Louis's shoulders and guided him from the train.

The station they had come to belonged to a good-sized town. It was laid out in the center of the valley. When the train moved, they could see right to down the main street from the platform. The civilians in the town were trying to go on with their daily lives without noticing the prisoners. Some glanced over as they walked around the streets, and others simply turned their back. The town was rather quiet for its size, and there was a somber, almost depressed mood that hovered in the air. Swastikas hung around the town, but there were not very many Nazi guards among the townspeople. The ratio between civilians and Nazis was unbalanced.

Peter walked up beside Luke, who was looking at the ticket booth of the train station. Hanging over it was a sign with town's name on it.

"Bye-el-skee," sounded out Luke slowly. "Bielski, Bielski!"

"_Sehr gut_."

Peter, Louis, and Luke spun around. _Hauptmann_ Haussler was smiling coldly at the trio. He took a step forward, and Peter immediately pulled Louis closer to him. The Frenchman did not protest.

"Your pronunciation was correct," said Haussler. He ignored Peter's actions and took a step closer to Luke. Luke subtly inched closer to Peter.

"It doesn't sound German," said Luke softly.

"It is not," replied Haussler. "This is Bielski, Poland. The POW camp that you will be living in is not far from here."

"Okay," said Luke. He shot a nervous glance at Peter, who was glaring straight at Haussler. Haussler eventually took his observant eyes off Luke and shifted them to Peter.

"Not happy with me _Engländer_," he asked. "Even though I fed you in Nürnberg?"

"You couldn't 'ave us all killed," said Peter. "Your superiors would be rather angry, no? We're protected by the Geneva Convention."

"Not yet," retorted Haussler sharply. "You were never registered. Therefore, your life meant nothing to anyone while we journeyed here. You are correct in that my superior officer would not have been happy to have no prisoners arrive here in good shape. You will become great workers. But, there is no one looking for you _Obergefreiter_. _You_ could be dead or captured, no one knows. And until we reach that camp, _anything _can happen to you. I would watch your mouth or I just might get tired of it a bit too soon for your liking."

For a long, tense moment, Peter and Haussler just stared eye-to-eye at one another, each trying to glare the other one down. Louis was looking back and forth between the both of them waiting for someone to make a move. He was sure Peter would be shot right there. Louis winced as Peter squeezed his shoulders tightly.

"Well, besides all that, I never dreamed I'd be in Poland one day," said Luke suddenly. "I mean, from England, it seems so far away, like another world. I've always wanted to leave England and go off on my own for a bit, just travel Europe, and then maybe America. Now this wasn't exactly how I planned it to be, but at least I'm here."

Peter, Louis, and Haussler all looked at Luke as if the young man had just grown another head. Louis could not have been happier. At least the tight tension between Peter and Haussler had been broken. Haussler just scoffed and stomped off, bellowing orders for the prisoners to be organized into formation.

When Haussler was gone, Louis thumped Luke on the back. "You were great, _mon ami!_"

"Thanks, old man," said Luke, with a woozy smile. "Because I feel like I'm about to fall over."

Peter rolled his eyes, but any remark was cut off by Marcel pulling him into formation.

"You guys are going to get yourselves killed," he said. "Get in line _et fermez la bouche_."

They all obeyed Marcel, who after satisfied in seeing them in line, went back to helping Stephen stand up as he continued to cough into the handkerchief. Peter placed Louis beside him, where he could keep an eye on him in case things began to go ill again.

The guards began to count them, and it was soon found out that of the men who had boarded the train four days ago, six had died. Some prisoners worried about those who were looking sickly, and wondered if the death count would raise any before their final destination. Peter, Louis, and Luke were apparently the only ones who knew that the final destination was not far. Still, they wondered how long another trek on foot would really be. Peter was beginning to wonder as to whether or not _he_ would even make it. No doubt Haussler really would like to get rid of him in the end.

But like he had made Louis promise, he would not give up.

After the prisoners were counted, and recounted, and recounted again, they were divided into officers and noncoms. The prisoners had known this was coming as well. Officers were meant for an Oflag camp. Unfortunately, the officers found themselves boarding the train again. However, they were handed some bread and water canteens as they boarded. There was some comfort at that. The noncoms watched them get on, as they were counted again. Captain Lawrence turned back once, and he spotted Peter in the crowd. He just nodded in an affirmative good-bye and gave him an encouraging smile. Peter smiled and nodded back, offering his own 'good luck' to the officer. The officers finished boarding, and then the train rolled out. After a final count, the noncoms were finally marched off from the train station and out of town.

Though it was hard to believe, this march was almost harder than the first one. The train ride had made many of the men sick. Before, you were wounded and dropped, but the sickness was something more to overcome because after making it this far, no one wanted to give up. They were convincing themselves they could make it. The plus side was that the prisoners had grown closer, and were watching out for one anther more. When they had tried to do this in the march across France, the guards had been pushy. Now, they were more lenient and were ready to be rid of the prisoners. So, if something made the march go faster, they were okay with it.

The area around Bielski was mainly farms. Off in the distance, someone spotted a factory. They were in a valley, with hills or small mountains around them. Eventually, as the day neared dusk, some clouds began to roll in, and it appeared that rain may be in their future. The prisoners prayed for it; they were convinced that at least one drop of water would save them.

Then, they spotted the camp. It was quite a depressing place to behold. It was a large area; quite a few acres at least. Two sets of barbed wire ran around the perimeter of the camp. Between the two fences were guards with dogs. Outside the wire were towers about every thirty yards. In each tower there were beacons, unlit now because the sun was still out, and also guards manning .50 caliber machine guns. Inside the camp, there were rows and rows of barracks. They were lined up around one large area, a compound that was empty at the moment. From what the prisoners could see, there were another two fences that ran through the middle of the camp as some sort of division line. In between the two fences, guards and dogs patrolled the no-man's land and intimidating towers with guards looking down on both compounds. There were three larger buildings spotted that seemed to be in a neutral zone of the camp. From one, smoke rose up, and one could catch the smell of something cooking. It made the prisoners' mouths water. Finally, there were another two buildings that were set off from the main two compounds. One seemed to be a large barracks of sorts, and another was an administrative building.

When the camp came into view, the prisoners' pace grew steadily. They were eager to finally stop. They marched about a hundred yards closer, and then Haussler called for a halt. He conversed with some of his men, and then sent two ahead. Then, he looked to the prisoners.

"Get into two lines on either side of the road," he commanded. "French on one side, and the English on the other!"

There was some confusion at first, and Haussler went on to give his orders in French. Then, the prisoners began to separate themselves, some reluctantly, such as Peter and Louis.

"We'll be in the same camp," offered Peter hopefully.

Louis smiled. "_Oui_. Take care of yourself Pierre. I do not want to 'ear anything."

"You too, Louie," said Peter. "You and Marcel take care o' one another."

"We will," assured Marcel. He shook Peter's hand, as well as Stephen's and Luke's. Louis did the same, and gave Peter a brief and awkward hug.

"It was good 'aving you around for all that traveling," said Louis at last.

"Yea, you too," replied Peter awkwardly. "Just be careful."

They finally parted ways, and went to their respective sides of the street. Once everyone was silent, Haussler had them march ahead to the gates. He remained in the middle of the road, and watched them march by. He seemed to be surveying them as one would survey a machine as it rolled out to go out and do its job.

Suddenly, Peter was yanked out of line. He was spun around, and was not surprised to find Haussler's hand gripping his collar, and the muzzle of a pistol in his face.

"_Non!_"

Peter looked away and saw Louis trying to turn around and come to Peter. But a guard grabbed him and pushed him along. Marcel clung to Louis as well, but shook his fist at Haussler.

"_Vous êtes un monstre!_" A guard pushed him on as well, and gave him a smack in the head.

"Please don't hurt him," begged Luke, as he was forced on. He distracted him by putting an arm around Stephen's shoulders as the Scot went into another coughing fit.

As they went one, Haussler looked at Peter with a smug smile. "Your friends are very concerned, are they not?" When Peter did not answer, his smile disappeared quickly. "On your knees," he hissed. Peter did not move but just glared at Haussler. Haussler suddenly punched Peter in the gut, and then in the jaw as Peter doubled over. Had it been a time when he was healthy and ready to fight, that blow would not have knocked him to his knees. But he was hardly at his healthiest, and sudden exhaustion took over, so he collapsed to his knees, finding it easier to do that than anything else. Peter looked up tiredly—yet defiantly—at Haussler.

"That all you got…_sir_," he asked bitterly.

Haussler cocked the gun. The last of the prisoners went by, with the guards practically dragging them along by now. Even as they all walked on, though, the prisoners all had their eyes turned to Peter and Haussler in the middle of the road. Haussler put the gun right over Peter's forehead.

"You have been a nuisance the entire road, _Engländer_," spat Haussler. "I should have ended your life when you killed my man in that cellar. I should have shot you for treason because you worked with those partisans. Still, you were a prisoner, and I thought I had to protect you. Then, you stole those potatoes. I beat you to nothing, but you surprised me, and recovered. I should have shot you in the barn that morning, and never have given you the chance to survive. You see, I wanted to toy with you, because I was so sure you would die that day. But you did not. Then, I was ready to shoot you in place of some French prisoner who had made a desperate escape. But once again, there was surprise, in your friends. They saved you, and the others. Still, I should have shot you, out of spite. You plagued me, because you would not die. I should have withheld your bread on the train, and seen how long you would last. I should have done all those things. And now, I should shoot you, just because I can, and for all of those things. But, I will not." Peter's eyes went wide with confusion. Haussler smiled, enjoying his prisoner's surprise. "You see, I am not a completely heartless man. I will not shoot you, because—though I hate to admit it—I have found respect in you, _Engländer._ Though you did torment me relentlessly, I found respect in you because you would not give up. You kept fighting when you never had the right to. I am a soldier as well, and I would have fought just as hard to survive if I were in your position. So—" He pulled his gun away from Peter's forehead and un-cocked it. "—I will spare you. _Guten nacht_, _Obergefreiter._" He raised his hand. "_Und_ _auf wiedersehen._"

Peter gasped in shock as Haussler brought the pistol down and across his face. His head snapped back, and he hit the ground hard. The last thing he saw was the rain filled clouds above.


	13. Stalag XXXA

**Chapter Thirteen: S****talag**** X****XXA**

_"Ou il est? Oh, si seulement je pourrais obtenir mes mains autour du cou de Haussler!" (1)_

_ "Etre calme, Louis! Vous ne devriez pas attirer l'attention à vous!" (2)_

Louis stopped shifting around in line, turned around and glared at Marcel. _"Il a tué Pierre!" (3)_

Marcel opened his mouth to assure Louis that since they had heard no gunshot, Peter was not dead. But he was cut off by the shrill blow of a whistle. The prisoners turned to face forward in the line. They were inside the Stalag now, standing in formation in the first compound. New guards were approaching them with an officer. These men were Wehrmacht soldiers as well. Haussler saluted to him, and began to leave. They had been talking for some time now in the administrative building. Haussler and those who had also come on horse, mounted their steeds.

Louis, in a sudden rush of anger, leapt forward in front of Haussler's steed, and glared up at the Hauptmann.

"What did you do with Peter," he cried.

"I do not know of anyone with that name," replied Haussler calmly. He tried to steer the horse around Louis, but the persistent Frenchman just stepped in the way again.

"The English Corporal you picked on," specified Louis. "What did you do with 'im?"

Haussler smirked. "I left him to defend for himself. That is all you really need to know." This time, he quickly cantered the horse around Louis. He stopped and looked back at the Frenchman. With a small laugh, he added: "If he is as persistent as you, and as resilient as he has been on the entire way here, then there will be no trouble for him. However, should he be picked up by the wrong people, then I would worry for him. Now, turn around _Franzose_. There is work to be done."

Louis shot a confused glance at Haussler, before the man turned his horse around and galloped off. That was the last they would see of _Hauptmann_ Haussler, their first slave driver. Suddenly, Louis was grabbed by the shoulders and shoved back into line. He got a hard smack on the back of the head. As they were organized, curious faces appeared from some of the barracks, and through the other fence.

The prisoners stared at one another. It was more British and French prisoners, airmen and infantry alike. But they were unable to study one another much longer, before another whistle was blown, and guards herded the original prisoners back into their barracks. Then, it was the new prisoners just left out on the compound, waiting for their next set of orders.

The officer who Haussler had talked to stood in front of them. He waited until his guards had formed the prisoners into two separate formations of British and French soldiers. Then when the compound was silent and organized once more, the officer spoke to them.

"I am Major Duerr, and I am your disciplinarian," he said. "This is Stalag XXXA, and it is a labor camp. You will be performing chores around the camp and in nearby communities, helping Germany's war effort. I am not the Kommandant of this camp, but you need not worry about him, because you will never deal with him. Any complaints that you have--and I am sure you will have plenty--will come to me. I will tell you now that unless it is a complaint regarding your and my guards' safety, that complaint is not worth wasting breath on. Another warning would be that my men have the orders to shoot to kill if you are found trying to escape. You will be given a warning to stop, and if you do not heed, then it is your wish to be dead. You are already divided up into your countries, so now you will be registered with the Red Cross and then assigned to your barracks."

He repeated his small welcome speech in French. The prisoners were quiet and still, just ready to lie down somewhere and go to sleep. After he was done with translations, he ordered his guards to get the prisoners divided up again. Then, he left the compound, and went into the administrative building on the other side of the fence. The French prisoners were brought through the next gate and into the other compound.

Louis made himself last in line to go through the gate and into the French side of camp. While he walked as slowly as he dared, he kept his eyes on the main gate, looking for any activity. But there was none. The guards were still, just watching the activity inside the camp. Louis swallowed as he was pushed through the gate; perhaps he had finally been separated from Peter forever.

They were put into two long lines. One line went to a table where two Wehrmacht Lieutenants gathered information for the Red Cross. Everyone simply gave their name, rank, and serial number. The second line went to a small and narrow building; the delousing station. On the other side, they were given new uniforms while their own were taken to be cleaned and inspected. Their new uniforms were just gray, thin work clothes. It was actually more comfortable in the heat than their heavier uniforms. After one gave their information for the Red Cross, they went to the showers and vice versa. It was a quick process, despite the number of men. Prisoners who had already been in the camp were watching from their windows. Louis was comforted by the fact that there were at least people there who already knew the routine. Still, he stuck close to Marcel, determined not to be separated from anyone else. They were then divided up and put into barracks. They were told that they would remain in the barracks for the remainder of the day.

The men went straight to their bunks. The mattresses appeared rather new, but were not very comfortable. On each bunk was one, thin blanket. The barracks seemed for the most part almost unfinished. There were large knotholes in the walls, and some of the bunks swayed. The bunks were three beds tall, and they were situated around the room. In the middle of the room, there were two tables and two stoves. Only one of the stoves had space above to cook, but none of the prisoners had any idea what they could possibly cook on there.

Despite hunger, they were also tired. Louis hopped up on the middle bed of one of the bunks nearest a stove. If this was going to be his spot, he knew the stove would be crucial during winter. For now, neither stove was heated, since it was the middle of the summer, and no one had any food to cook. Marcel took the bunk above Louis, and an unknown prisoner slid beneath Louis.

In short time, it was quiet in the barracks, as everyone exhaustedly lie in their bunks, some sound asleep.

***** ***** *****

_"Raus!" _

The guard pushed the Polish soldier forward. The soldier gave him a startled look and then pointed a few yards ahead on the road. He spoke in rough German back at the guard.

_"Aber es gibt jemanden, der in der Mitte von der Straße liegt." (4)_

The guard looked up to where the Polish POW pointed. Indeed, about ten yards ahead of them, there was someone lying in the road. It looked like someone in uniform as well. The guard called for the procession of prisoners to halt, and then he walked forward to investigate. At first, he thought it was a German soldier, because the blue uniform was so filthy it almost looked gray from ten yards away. But when he finally stood over the soldier, he saw that it was actually a British airman. He had a nasty cut at his temple, no doubt the reason for him lying in the middle of the road unconscious. The guard had no idea why the airman was lying there, but thought he must surely belong to the POW camp that lay ahead within sight. So, he called his commanding officer to him.

The _Sturmbannführer_ came, and after studying the British airman, he called two Polish prisoners up, and then sent the rest of the line marching on. The _Sturmbannführer_ pointed to the airman on the ground. _"Holen Sie ihn ab." (5)_

The two Poles picked the airman up; one at his feet, and the other at his shoulders. Then, he took the Poles to the gate, and ordered himself inside.

***** ***** *****

Major Duerr scowled as he came out of his office. He scowled because in the compound before him was a SS _Sturmbannführer_, and he hated the SS. He hated them because they were treated better than other soldiers, simply because their leader was Hitler's right hand man. Yes, it must be a privilege to be so close to the Führer, but did this division have to go down all the way to the soldiers who actually made up the army? Well, Duerr had always kept his opinions to himself, but he still kept to only cool, military protocol whenever he had to deal with the elite SS.

He quickly walked from the small porch and to the _Sturmbannführer_.

_"Heil Hitler."_

_ "Heil Hitler."_

Neither saluted each other since they both had the same rank.

"Your business, _Herr Sturmbannführer_," asked Major Duerr.

"While taking my prisoners by, I found a British airman in the road," replied the _Sturmbannführer_, coolly. "Is he one of yours?"

"We just received new prisoners," answered Duerr. "He must have fallen before he got here. _Ja_, he is one of ours now."

"_Sehr gut_," said the _Sturmbannführer_. "I thought for a moment that perhaps he had escaped."

"_Nein_," assured Duerr. "Unlike your camp, _Sturmbannführer_, we have had no escapes."

The _Sturmbannführer_ glared at Duerr, and then spun around to his two Polish prisoners. "Drop him," he ordered.

The two Poles, however, gently laid the airman down. He was, after all, an ally. They meant to treat him with respect. The _Sturmbannführer_, however, was not pleased with this display of loyalty, respect, and otherwise disobedience towards him. He barked at them to move on quickly, and leave the airman. They quickly moved out of the way. The _Sturmbannführer_ pulled out his Luger and aimed it down at the oblivious airman.

"How about I lessen your chances," he said, looking at Duerr, waiting for a reaction. "I will kill him, and you have one less prisoner to worry about. He was hit on the head, if you did not notice. He must have been a nuisance to the last man in charge."

"_Nein_," said Duerr, taking a step forward. "He is protected by the Geneva Convention, something I and my men adhere to. You will not touch him."

"Geneva Convention," spat the _Sturmbannführer_. "He was lying out in the road. He is not even registered."

Duerr hated this. Soldiers of other countries should be treated with respect. They were only doing what he would have done to protect his soil. But some, in this new order of SS, just did not see that, did they? They were all boys, who had been raised up in this new regime, and brought up to hate. They had never seen the battle, and the bravery. Duerr had, in the last war, so he held respect for everyone. He would want to be treated respectfully as well.

Duerr quickly though of some way to persuade the _Sturmbannführer_ that this airman was registered. Then, he remembered the scene as the Captain Haussler had left the camp. The small Frenchman had leap forward demanding to know where his friend was. The English Corporal, Haussler had said. Duerr saw that the airman lying in front of him was a corporal. Duerr smiled.

"Yes he is," said Duerr. "I remember his file now. We could not find him in the ranks. What was his name again?" Duerr went on to think…what had the Frenchman called him? "Ah yes, Peter. That was his first name at least." Duerr hoped he was right; at least for the airman's sake.

The _Sturmbannführer_ did not seem pleased. He knelt down and yanked out the dog tags from beneath the airman's battledress jacket. His jaw clenched when he read the name: _Peter Newkirk_. The _Sturmbannführer_ stood up, and holstered his Luger. "Fine. But next time I find one of your prisoners out and about without you to watch over them, consider them dead."

"They were already warned," assured Duerr, with a smile. "_Auf wiedersehen, Sturmbannführer_."

The _Sturmbannführer_ gave no good bye, but stomped out of camp, pushing his Polish prisoners along. Duerr watched with pity and disgust as they left camp. Once they were gone, he walked over to the airman.

"Lucky bastard," he whispered. "Well, you won't be so lucky here. You must be worth something for work, if you've made it this far." He called his guards over. "Bring him to the infirmary, and leave him with the medic."

"_Jawohl_," said the guards.

Duerr watched them go off, and then calmly went back inside to his office. He pulled out another file for the Red Cross and quickly filled in the airman's name. Then, he filed it away and went to go join his commanding officer for dinner. Outside, the sun began to set below the tree line, sending the camp further into a shadow beneath the rain clouds, which suddenly opened up.

* * *

Translations:

(1) Where is he? Oh, if only I could get my hands around Haussler's neck!

(2) Calm down, Louis! You should not attract attention to yourself!

(3) He killed Peter!

(4) But someone is lying in the middle of the street.

(5) Pick him up.

**On the note of how Stalags were named: there were often a few in an area, distinguished by officers, enlisted men, or nationalities. So they had the same roman numerals, but would be more specifically named with a letter at the end. Stalag XXXA did not exist, and as far as I know, there is no Bielski, Poland either. On such a taboo matter, I did not want to base a fanfic story off a real prison camp or town. However, the reason this site was chosen was that the prisoners captured at Dunkirk were all sent to eastern Germany or Poland, because it was so far away from the coast. And, most of these camps were working camps. NOT Holocaust type slavery, nor those kind of rations, but still work. However, Polish and Russian POWs were apart of the Holocaust, so that is why in this chapter the Polish POWs were being kept by the SS. In case you didn't know, the Germans hated the Polish and Russians even more because they thought that those lands had always been Germany's. Lastly, there really was animosity between the regular army soldiers and SS, because you supposedly had to be an even better soldier to be in the SS, and yet many SS soldiers were apart of domestic security, so the regular army held little respect for them in regard to battle.

Thank you for all the reviews so far, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!


	14. Barracke 14

**Chapter Fourteen: Barracke 14**

_He really didn't want to leave again. Going back after being home hurt more than leaving the first time. But, this apparently was life in the military._

_ "There's the train Peter."_

_ He looked next to him, where his little sister—though she wasn't quite so little anymore—was looking up at him with her intelligent eyes. Mavis gave him an encouraging smile._

_ "Don't forget to write this time, Peter," she said._

_ "I won't pet," he promised. "Now be good, stay in school, an' don't stay up too much at work. You just tell ole Kingsley I said you were to get a good night's sleep every night durin' school."_

_ "I will," said Mavis. "You be good too." She stretched up and gave him a peck on the cheek, and patted his back._

_ He took a few steps away towards the train as the conductor blew the whistle, calling everyone on board. Then, he turned around, just as Mavis leapt into his arms. He gave her long, comforting hug, and then set her back down. He patted her head, and wiped a tear off her cheek._

_ "Don't worry," he said. "I'll be fine. I'll be right there on the ground. Stay strong, Mavis. Stay strong for me."_

_ "I will, Peter. I will."_

_ The whistle blew again. Mavis hugged him again, clinging to him, showing her displeasure at having to see him off again. The whistle blew again, and he stood up straight to go. Mavis wiped her eyes, and handed him his bag. The whistle blew again, and kept blowing…_

Peter sat straight up in his bed, half expecting to see Mavis standing in front of him in the bustling activity of London's train station. But she wasn't. And that damned whistle was still blowing. There was someone yelling too.

"_Raus! Appel! Appel! Schnell!"_

Peter's brow furrowed in confusion. Roll call? Wait no…he was in a room…in a bed?!

Peter looked around worriedly. He expected to be waking up in the middle of the road, or actually never waking up again. Not on this planet at least. He was sure Haussler had finished him off, no matter what kind of speech he had given. But the slight sting on his temple told him he was very much alive. And looking down he saw that he was still in his filthy uniform. His boots were off, and his wedge cap placed at the foot of the bed. He was not the only one in the room. There were four other men lying in beds around him. It was some sort of hospital.

One of the men, a British infantryman, sat up and looked at him questioningly.

"You new, chum," he asked.

Peter nodded. "Um, yea, I suppose. Though I'm not sure where I'm new to."

"Welcome to Stalag XXXA," said the Brit, with a sweeping gesture of his arm. "The 'ard labor camp o' southern Poland." He leaned over and extended his hand out to Peter. "Corporal Everley Blackwell at your service, mate."

Peter smiled, and shook Everley's hand. "Corporal Peter Newkirk. Where you from? That accent sounds a bit familiar."

Everley chuckled. "Whitechapel. You?"

"Cor, mate, not too far from you at all," said Peter. "Stepney."

Everley laughed again. "Glad to find another chap from the East."

"Yea," agreed Peter. "Does make the place seem less scary." He glanced around, wondering what had happened with Louis and the others. "Wot's the day?"

"July 5th," answered Everley. "They brought you in yesterday."

Peter nodded. "You been 'ere long?"

"Well," began Everley. "I been in the camp for about o' month. But I only been in the 'ospital for two weeks."

"Wot's wrong? You sick?"

"That's wot Jerry thinks." Everley grinned devilishly.

"I might 'ave to take some lessons from you, mate," said Peter, leaning back in the bed.

"I 'ear you might not 'ave to," said Everley.

"Wot you mean?"

"The Major practically saved your arse."

"Who?"

"Major Duerr. 'E's the disciplinarian o' the camp."

"An' 'e saved me," asked Peter. "Wot, 'e found me out on the road?"

"No," said Everley. "You see, there's another camp a few miles down. It 'olds Polish prisoners, an' the SS run it. The way I 'ear it, the SS were bringin' the Poles back to camp, an' they found you. Brought you back to camp, an' dumped you on the doorstep. The SS officer wanted to shoot you, but Major Duerr, 'e stopped 'im, an' _voilá,_ 'ere you are, alive an' as well as you'll ever be in this 'ole."

"But why would 'e want to save me," asked Peter. What was it with Wehrmacht officers and him? They hated him, but kept him alive? That didn't make any sense whatsoever to Peter.

Everley shrugged. "Beats me. It was probably just the fact that Major Duerr 'ates the SS. Probably was just doin' it to show power to that SS bloke. Then again, since this is a work camp, every man is valuable. Duerr could've thought that you'd be fine an' then useful later on. We're slaves to 'im really."

"Slaves is kinda 'arsh, doncha think," asked Peter.

"Look," said Everley. "That's just 'ow they talk about you aroun' 'ere. Take care o' 'em they say. You think they really mean it. But they're just concerned that if they lose too many, the work won't get done. This is supposed to be a regular POW camp, no work allowed for us. But Jerry keeps us small an' quiet, an' no one knows the difference. That's the way I see it anyway."

Peter nodded. "Just a no win situation."

"No," said Everley. "There is a way to win. Stay sane, be yourself, an' stay alive. That way, it's one less thing they've taken away from us."

Peter smiled. "Got it."

Then, the door opened up, and two medics entered, one British and the other French. They were followed by two guards. One was very tall and muscular, and Peter quickly promised himself that he would evade that guard as much as possible. The guard looked around at the five prisoners in bed, and his eyes stopped on Everley and Peter. He pointed to them.

"Check these two," he said in clipped English.

Everley groaned. "Should've stayed layin' down. Now they'll think we're okay." He lay back down, but Peter just remained leaning against the wall. The British medic went up to Everley. The medic seemed rather annoyed. He was limping slightly as well.

"How are you today, Corporal," he asked. He turned his back on the guards some and hissed at Everley. "They want you out of here. Two weeks was pushing it."

Everley got the message. "Yeah, I'm feelin' better sir. Thanks for the care, doc."

The medic stood up straight. "Good." He turned to Peter, and his eyes became softer and kinder. "Ah, our newcomer. Already in the infirmary. That's definitely not the way to start the term in this school, lad. How are you this morning? Headache any?"

"It just stings," replied Peter honestly. He leaned his head forward some as the medic unwrapped the bandage he had put on Peter's head.

"That's good then," said the medic. "No concussion. I'm Staff Sergeant Wilkerson by the way. Call me what you like, though. We aren't that formal around here."

"Quickly," barked the muscular guard. "They must be out for breakfast."

"They will be," said Wilkerson with some authority. He looked back at Peter with a wink. "Don't worry. That's ole Berg, Sergeant of the Guard. As far as I know, he hasn't harmed a soul in this camp except his own men when they get out of line. As long as you don't do anything too drastic, like attacking one of his men, you should be fine. He always expects us to try and escape, so when it actually happens, he doesn't bother trying to kill."

"So 'e won't," asked Peter.

"Well, the bottom line is that he's a German soldier and we're the enemy," said Wilkerson. "No one has ever kept going after the first warning shots. So really, what Major Duerr always says might actually happen one day. After the warning, they shoot to kill."

Peter swallowed, and then winced as Wilkerson poked the cut. "Sorry," said Wilkerson. "It looks fine. Just be sure to wash it every day. Infection can kill a man around here. As for work, if you really are feeling bad, tell one of the prisoners who've been here longer. That way, they'll know who to go tell. You'll just get a lighter job." Wilkerson started to walk off.

Peter nodded. "Yes sir."

The medic turned around. "Please, don't call me sir. I'm not an officer. Just a doctor."

"Then, yes doc," answered Peter. Wilkerson nodded and then went to tending some of the other patients in the hospital with the French medic.

Everley handed him his boots. "Best tie 'em tight. I'll take you to the mess hall."

"_Nein_," said Berg, stepping forward. "You both go to _barracke_."

"Wot about breakfast," whined Everley.

"It is not _die Engländers_ turn," said Berg, tapping Everley's chest with his club. "You know drill: _Franzose_ first, then _Engländer_."  
"Yea, yea," said Everley. He sat down to wait for Peter to finish tying up his boots, but Berg pulled him off the bed and forced him to stand in the aisle. He looked at the other guard. "Take him to his barracks."

The other guard took Everley by his arm and escorted him from the infirmary. Everley looked back at Peter. "See ya at breakfast, mate."

"Righto," replied Peter. He finished tying his laces quickly and then stood up. He put his wedge cap back in his shoulder strap, and then let Berg take him outside. They walked across a smaller compound and into another building; the administrative one. Berg pushed Peter inside an office, where a man behind a desk was studiously working on a report. Berg clicked his heels and went to attention.

"Sergeant Berg reporting," he said. "I have the prisoner you wished to see for the Red Cross file."

Peter looked from Berg to the officer, trying to decipher the meaning of him being here. But the officer did not look up for a moment. Berg smacked Peter across the back of the head. "You must go to _achtung_ when with an officer."

Peter went to attention as well. They stood there for a few moments more while the officer finished his report. Then, he filed it away and Major Duerr turned to look at them both.

"_Danke, Oberfeldwebel_," he said. He looked at Peter. "You may go at ease, Corporal." Peter went to the traditional at ease position, not relaxing in the slightest. Duerr almost smiled. "I am just getting information for your Red Cross file. That way, you can converse with your family through letters."

Peter just nodded, and watched as Duerr pulled out a file with his name on it. He wondered how the Major even knew his name.

"So," said Duerr. "I have your name. Obviously, your rank is Corporal. Anything else you wish to give me?"

"Serial number: 01568832," said Peter automatically, his voice adamant.

"_Sehr gut_," said Duerr. He quickly filled it in. "That all?"

"I am required to give you nothing else, sir," said Peter, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

Duerr smiled, and stood up, and Peter found himself looking right at Duerr. "That is good. Berg, take him to his barracks."

"He was never assigned to any, sir," said Berg.

"Just find an empty one then," said Duerr.

"_Jawohl_," said Berg. He yanked Peter by the arm to the door.

Peter shot Duerr a curious glance and then obediently went outside. There berg escorted him through a gate and into a compound. Rows of barracks stood before him. The windows were open on most of them, and even the doors to others. As the gate shut behind he and Berg, Peter noticed many of the British prisoners coming to the windows and doors and looking at him curiously. He remembered how Everley had seemed amazed at how Peter had been treated by Duerr.

Berg pushed him along and they crossed the compound, and went straight to the first building. Berg looked to the prisoners in the window. "Where is there a barrack with room for this one," he asked.

"The back barracks," said one. "The ones closest to the fence."

Berg looked at Peter, and Peter looked back at him. "_Nein_. Not for you. Any that are further away from the fence?"

The prisoners shrugged. "I dunno. Go look."

Berg shook his head and pushed Peter along. The prisoners watched them go. Every barracks they passed, prisoners curiously looked out of.

"Peter!"

Peter and Berg both jumped as the voice had come from directly next to them from a barracks window. They looked up and Luke was staring down at them.

"Well, 'ello mate," exclaimed Peter.

"You know him," asked Berg.

"Yea," said Peter.

"There room in there for one more," asked Berg through the window.

"Are you kiddin'," said someone. He came to the window and Berg groaned. It was Everley. "Yea, we got room ole Bergie. Let 'em stay 'ere."

"Oh, for the love of_ Gott_," said Berg. "You are everywhere. Fine, he can stay here."

Luke whooped and ran to the door. He practically pulled Peter in, and Berg slammed the door shut. Everley opened it again and said good bye to Berg as the muscular guard walked off. Meanwhile Luke clapped Peter on the back.

"What happened? We thought Haussler had killed you!"

"No, 'e just 'it me on the loaf an' left me there. Supposedly I was picked up by some Poles an' dropped off 'ere. Not much to tell."

"That's not what we hear."

Peter turned around and saw Stephen lying up in one of the bunks. He coughed some. Peter quickly went to his side.

"'Ey, you all right, mate," he asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," said Stephen. "Feelin' better after getting' oot o' that stuffy cattle car. But really, we heard that the Major saved your life."

"That's wot I 'ear too, but I just saw 'im, for Red Cross stuff, an' I can tell; all 'e wants me for is work," said Peter. "Nothin' special 'ere."

Stephen smiled. "Louis was worried aboot you. I thought he was actually goin' tae attack Haussler."

"Yea," exclaimed Luke. "You should've seen him! It was a good thing Marcel was there to bring him back."

Peter smiled. "I'm just glad 'e's alright. But where is 'e?"

"The camp's divided up," said Everley. "French on one side, British on the other."

"Too bad, innit," said Peter. "I kinda liked 'avin' them Frenchies around."

"Me too," said Luke. "I was even learning how to speak French. That would've passed the time better."

"Learn German instead," said another man. He held his hand out. "Private Dean Matthews."

Peter shook his hand. "German?"

"Well," said Dean. "If you learn German, maybe you could escape more easily."

"Escape," echoed Luke, in a voice of confusion. He looked at Peter uncertainly, and Peter flashed him an encouraging grin.

"Of course," replied Dean. "I sure as hell want to escape as soon as I can. Don't you?"

"Well, yes," said Luke. "It's just that…after everything…it almost seems impossible."

"We'll see about that," said Everley. "After awhile, we'll find a weakness in 'ere. We've just got to. Do you really wanna spend years in this place?"

"No," answered Luke adamantly with a scowl. "And I believe you: we'll find a way. You just startled me is all."

Peter clapped Luke on the shoulder. "Don't worry. Remember wot I said: we won't be locked up forever."

More introductions were made from around the barracks. It was a mix of men who had been captured in Dunkirk and earlier. There were thirty men in the barracks, and it was definitely crowded. Peter found himself on the top bunk, above Luke and Stephen. Looking around, he realized that however long he was going to be here, it was going to be tough. But he knew that because of the men around him, he would have help in remaining strong.

They were called for breakfast about an hour later, and when they filed outside and across the compound, Peter's eyes and thoughts went through the fence to the compound next to them. The French camp was still, and guards patrolled it, keeping the prisoners inside their barracks. Peter smiled, knowing that Louis was safe and sound, for now.

***** ***** *****

Breakfast was bread and soup, and neither was that bad. In fact, it was very sustaining to those who had not ha food in a few days now. After breakfast, they were sent back into the compound, and back into the barracks. There, the newcomers inquired about the camp's routine.

"Bloody borin' is wot it is," was the first thing Everley said. "We get up, have breakfast, come back, get work details, work, lunch, work, rec period, dinner, roll call, bed."

"That's it," asked Luke.

"Wot's rec period," asked Peter.

"The time they give us to get our exercise, as mandated by the Geneva Convention," answered Dean.

"But since we've been workin' out arses off all day," said Everley. "It's more a time to rest outside while you can. It's only an 'our too, and that's only if you get back from work in time."

"What kind o' work do we do around here," asked Stephen.

"Well, there hasn't been much," said Dean. "But Berg keeps promising there's more and I believe him. So far we've been repairing farms and roads."

"Repairin'," asked Peter.

"From when Germany came through Poland," explained Dean. "We've been fixing everything that can be put to use. And some of us are rented out by townspeople for reconstruction inside town."

"Cor," said Peter. "It is like slaves."

"Told you," said Everley.

"But we're treated all right," said Dean. "It's just hard stuff sometimes, and then we only get bread and soup. So far, no one's be beaten or harmed in any severe way. Course they rough us up some times if we get too disobedient, but they really are concerned about their workforce. I heard from one of the guards that it's so remote out here, finding work from the Poles is hard."

"And the Polish prisoners," asked Luke.

"They work too," said Everley. "We've seen 'em. But I they never work wif us, an' we never work wif them."

"Why not," asked Luke.

"Dunno, don't care," said Everley with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "We can't even speak the same language as them, so why bother? As for the Frogs, we work wif 'em on occasion. If we're out on a farm we usually do, because there's a lot o' us. Still, the guards try to separate us if they can."

Peter nodded, and he looked out the window towards the French side of camp. "When do we start workin'?"

"We should've already begun," said Dean, looking at his watch. "But maybe cause it's you guys' first day, they're giving us a break. They probably think you all are just not ready to work yet. After our trip here, they gave us a few days' rest."

"Hey," said Stephen, leaning back in his bunk. "They won't hear me complainin'."

The men chuckled, and conversation moved onto other things. Peter sighed wearily, though. At least, he hoped, routine should make life a bit easier. No surprises…he hoped.


	15. Reunion

**Note for the previous chapter****:** I'm sure there was some confusion over the character Private Dean Matthews, and I apologize. I introduced him as someone Peter already knew, but then he sounded like he had been in the camp already. Anyway, that's cause I was writing too much, and too quickly, and then I didn't even edit myself. So, I fixed it. You can go back now and it should make more sense. If there's anything else confusing let me know. Hope you're enjoying the story!

Simone Lyon

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: R****eunion**

August 4, 1940

Well, for a long time, there would be no surprises for anyone. Three days after arriving at camp, the new prisoners were divided into working units by barracks. From that day on, it was just the routine that Dean and Everley had described. Work varied from small chores around the camp to improve its conditions to working on farms in the local countryside. For the newcomers it was a shock at first because the work was so constant. But they eventually got over it. They worked every day but Sunday, and that free day was usually spent trying to defeat boredom.

The fight from the beginning was against the summer heat. But after everyone became positively immune to the heat and used to the rations, they were all lean, working men. The next fight was against boredom, and ultimately depression.

They all knew the war still had a ways to go if the UK put up a fight. And after July went by, and August came, just a month in the dullest routine known to man was something that could break you if you didn't fight it. In their recreation hours, they attempted to break it by mingling with other people around the camp. It was then that a revelation was made when the prisoners found just one other thing they were allowed to do: they could go to the fence and talk to the prisoners on the other side.

By all rights, it probably would have sounded incredulously unimportant to anyone on the outside, or even the guards. But it was just something else to do.

As soon as Louis found out they were allowed to talk to the British prisoners he went there the first chance he got. It was Sunday, so it was a free day, which meant they were not confined to barracks. But it was getting on in the day, and dinner was soon. Someone had only just found out they were allowed to talk to those in the British camp. Well, he wasn't the only one who went to the dividing fence. Many prisoners on both sides were eager to talk to someone on the other side. Fortunately, the fence was long and there was enough room that everyone could stand comfortably. Guards patrolled between the fences, but were easily ignored by the prisoners.

Louis had long ago—or so it felt—accepted the fate of his friend Peter. He and Marcel had both come to the conclusion, since there had been no news around the camp of another prisoner, that Haussler had indeed killed Peter. Louis was terribly saddened about it and for those three days that they only rested, he had often thought about the Englishman. They had both known that on arriving at the camp, they would most likely be separated. But Louis admitted to himself that he had not expected Peter to be killed right away. And that was what had saddened him most. Peter had never gotten a chance to even try and survive the camp. He had survived all that time on the journey there, against the odds, had _resisted_, and it was all for naught even with the camp in sight.

However, when the work came, thoughts of Peter drifted off. He remembered the man, but realized that there was no point dwelling over the death. Louis had come to see in a way that when a man died in war, it was not a tragedy. He told himself that he should have known. He should not have attached himself to another friend who would most likely be killed eventually. It was war, and death came frequently in war. So, Peter was tucked away in Louis' heart with Jean, and his unit. Not really forgotten, but not exactly mourned. Just there, as a reminder of what he was fighting for.

For that Louis did not make much of an outward move to acquaintance himself with anyone else. He stuck close to Marcel throughout the day. They spent every waking moment side by side, just comfortable in knowing there was one other person there who cared about them.

When they learned, on that Sunday, that they were allowed to go talk with the British prisoners, they were both eager to find Stephen and Luke. They hopefully anticipated seeing their long, lost friends healthy. It would be encouraging to know that things were just as well on the British side as it was on the French.

But what Louis did not know, was that as he and Marcel walked the fence, searching for familiar faces, their long lost friends on the other side were doing the same. They all saw people they remembered from the march, and quickly conversed with them, making sure everyone was okay. They also inquired as to the whereabouts of their friends. Finally, Luke, who was always on top of spotting anyone, spotted Marcel through the two sets of barbed wire.

"Marcel! Marcel!"

Luke sped to the fence, practically running into it. Unlike the fences that separated the prisoners from the outside world, there was no line indicating no-man's-land where the prisoners could not go. But if one touched the wire, the guards often ordered them away.

Marcel heard his name called, and turned towards the fence, where he saw Luke bouncing on the balls of his feet on the other side. Marcel waved excitedly, and called for Louis to come. The shorter Frenchman hurried over, just as Stephen and Peter came up on either side of Luke.

"Peter!" cried Louis and Marcel simultaneously.

"What—where—" Louis could not finish his sentence, he was so excited.

"No, wait," said Peter. "Lemme guess…you thought I was dead?"

"Of course we thought you were dead," exclaimed Marcel.

Peter smiled and quickly filled them in on what had really happened. Luke excitedly picked it up to when Major Duerr had saved Peter from being shot by the SS officer. Luke was surprised that none of the French prisoners had heard.

"Well," said Louis. "The communication lines 'ave been down lately."

Peter snorted sarcastically.

"Well, how have ye been," asked Stephen.

"Good enough considering," replied Marcel. "You sound better. The cough all gone?"

"Yea," said Stephen. "Just needed some fresh air I suppose."

"You sure got it 'ere," said Louis. "What kind of work 'ave you all 'ad?"

"We've been workin' inside camp," answered Peter. "On account that our barracks seems to 'ave most o' the sick or injured people in them. Not anymore though. Ole Berg, our guard, 'e says we're gonna go work outside the camp in a few days."

"Yea," said Luke. "I can't wait. Even if we are working, it'll be nice to get out of here for a few ticks. What about you chaps?"

"We work on a farm," answered Marcel.

"I think it's our permanent workplace," said Louis. "We 'ave repaired the barn, farm'ouse and fences. The family still lives there, and they 'elped out some. But the guards do not like the civilians to be around us very much. Anyway, we are supposed to start actually farming there soon."

"Hey," said Luke. "Berg said we were being put on a farm too. Maybe it's the same one!"

"Maybe," said Marcel. "But we walk there every day and we see a lot of other large farms. You could be going anywhere. The Germans want these places farmed so that the crops go to the military."

"So, tis a fat chance we'll end up on the same farm as ye," summarized Stephen.

"_Oui_, _une gras chance_," replied Louis.

"That's too bad," said Peter. "That would've been nice."

"There's still a chance we _will_ work on the same farm," said Luke hopefully.

Peter chuckled and threw an arm around the younger man's shoulder. "It's nice to 'ave a shinin' sun like you around to brighten the day, mate, but over there—". He hooked his thumb over his shoulder to the administrative buildings. "—is where the clouds always come from."

"But there still is a chance," said Luke in a determined voice.

Louis smiled. 'Give up, Pierre. I think I will take Luke's side and 'ope for the better."

"It's not that I don't 'ope," straightened out Peter. "It's that I just don't want to get _too_ 'opeful."

"Right," said Stephen. "But I've another question." He looked to Louis and Marcel. "Do either o' ye know anythin' aboot our kommandant? No one on this side has a clue."

Marcel smiled. "We do not exactly know. But I know someone who does."

"Where is 'e," asked Peter. "I'd like to 'ear more about this bloke meself. It's a right mystery, it is. I've never laid eyes on the fellow. It's always the Major."

"I will go get 'im," said Marcel. "I think I know where to find 'im." With a knowing smile, he walked off determinedly.

"You know this guy," asked Stephen of Louis.

"_Oui_," answered Louis with a shrug. "He sleeps beneath me. Marcel and I are in the same barracks, fortunately. What about you?"

"We managed to get stuck in the same barracks," said Luke. He crossed his arms and shot a look to Peter and Stephen. "I'm beginning to wonder if I made a mistake in bunking with these two."

"Oi," said Peter. "Wot's that supposed to mean? You shouldn't talk, because I've never 'eard someone mumble so much in their sleep!

But Luke chuckled. "Well you and Stephen always seem to move around, and sometimes I wake up thinking I'm in the middle of an earthquake."

"Well, at least you've experienced something more exciting in this camp," said Louis. "My barracks is just full of snoring men."

Marcel then walked back, towing in another Frenchmen. "This is Private Torben Arcenau. 'E was 'ere before us."

"_Bonjour,_" he said to three British soldiers. "Marcel tells me you wanted to know something about our Kommandant."

"Yea," answered Stephen. "Like why we never see him for one. Does he even exist?"

"_Oui_," replied Torben. "He certainly does. I saw him the first night we came here. Those I came with were the first ones in the camp. He arrived the same day we did, along with the guards and Major Duerr. But he never spoke a word. So, I asked some of the guards about him."

"We ask all the time," said Luke. "But they don't tell us anything."

"Well," explained Torben. "I think the guards like me a little bit because I can speak German and I am from Sträsbourg. Anyway, I can usually get something from them after a bit prodding. So, I asked about the kommandant. They do not really know much, but what they do know is that he is a hero from the Great War. And he was put in combat again when the Nazis blitzed Poland. After that, he tried to resign, because of his age. But apparently the Reich _implored_ him to stay, so he did, taking up this role instead."

"Strange," said Peter curiously. "That doesn't explain anythin'."

"I know," said Torben. "But I've asked many of the guards. They know nothing more than that. Apparently, he rarely speaks with them. He gives his commands through the Major."

"And what about 'im," asked Louis. "'E seems a mystery as well."

"I could tell you even less about the Major," replied Torben. "All I know about him is that he is protective of the Kommandant. He is also honorable and studious. My impression is that he is really not a military man."

"I dunno," said Peter. "I got the impression that 'e could lay anyone out at any moment 'e wanted to. I mean, if 'e felt threatened. A cool customer, 'e is."

Suddenly, a whistle was blown. Berg stomped out into the compound. "Back in the _barracke_. _Abendessen_ is soon!"

The next voice was cheeky Everley. "Awww, c'mon ole Bergie, we've just been allowed to talk wif the Frogs! Can't we 'ave just a wee bit more time?"

"A wee," asked Berg, sounding confused. "_Nein, Engländer_. You heard me. Back to the _barracke_. If not, no _Abendessen_."

"_Abendessen,_" echoed Everley curiously. "Wot's that?"

"Dinner," barked another guards, one more fluent in English. "Now get in."

Peter, Stephen, and Luke looked forlornly at Marcel and Louis. "Well, till next time, chaps," said Luke. "I guess we'll find out tomorrow as to whether or not we'll be working together."

"_Oui,_" said Louis. Stephen and Luke wandered off after exchanging goodbyes, and Marcel went away with Torben. As Peter turned to go, Louis called out to him. "Keep your 'opes up, Pierre."

Peter smiled and turned back to the fence. "I will," replied Peter grudgingly. "Goodbye. Or _au revoir_ if you'd rather."

Louis laughed, for the first time in a long time, surprising himself. "Spare us _mon ami!_" But he smiled genuinely. Then, he stepped forward to the fence, and leaned against the barbed wire, slipping his arm through. Ignoring the hard metal pressing against him, he stretched his hand out as far as he could across the narrow space that the guards had patrolled. There were none there at the time, because of the call for dinner. Peter leaned in and did the same. In the middle, their fingertips grazed.

"It is good to see you," said Louis sincerely. "I really thought you were dead."

"I'm glad to see you 'ealthy as well," said Peter with a smile. There was something sad in his eyes as Berg grabbed his shoulder and yanked him away from the fence. "Goodbye!"

"Goodbye," whispered Louis. His smile dissipated slowly and sadly. He stepped away from the fence, and went back inside the barracks, to await another potato soup, brown bread, and cabbage dinner.

And yet, he was glad. There seemed to be hope after all.


	16. The Farm Jakowitz & Restaurant Symanski

**Chapter Sixteen: T****he**** F****arm**** J****akowitz and the R****estaurant ****S****ymanski**

August 5, 1940

Luke would never let Peter live it down that he was wrong. They did end up working at the same farm as Louis and Marcel. After _appel_ and breakfast, the men in their _barracke _were lined up with Louis's and Marcel's _barracke_. In total, sixty men marched to one farm that was a couple of miles away from the camp. They were formidably surrounded by guards, who were alert to their every move. But no prisoner was trying anything just yet. No one had been brave enough to test the waters; many were still overcoming the routine each day.

However, when they arrived at the farm, the British and French prisoners were still kept apart. The French were out in the fields, building a fence on the far perimeter of the farm, along the tree line. The British prisoners were building two sheds near the barn to accommodate supplies. It was a slow start to their job; not everyone was a handyman. Most of the men could handle complicated nuts and bolts on a plane, but as for nailing two piece of wood together and making it stand up…that was a different story.

Fortunately, they were not all clueless. There were enough men, like Stephen, who had done chores like this their entire life. They were able to spread out and help their comrades. By the afternoon, when it was time to go, a fair amount of progress had been made, and the prisoners were actually proud of their work.

This particular farm became the second home of the British prisoners in _Barracke_ 14. Even after a week and the two sheds were completed and one was stocked with tools, they were to work on the farm. After the French completed the fence around the perimeter, they were taken off the farm, and sent in town. That was when Peter nudged Luke on the shoulder and said "I told you so". Though they had been on the same farm as Louis and Marcel, they had never worked near them, much less together.

The farm was somewhat of a marvel to the prisoners, who eventually realized that they were hired hands. Over the month of August, and into September, they worked the farm, keeping it running. It was large and busy. There were about twenty acres of fields in which a harvest would have come if the farm had not been completely destroyed when Poland was conquered. The fields were now cleaned up and ready to have seed put down but that would not be until the spring. Then, on the other side of the farm, another fifty acres stood on a natural open field, where sheep and cattle grazed. That was where a small profit would be made by the farmer. His wool would be sold to the German military. The heads of cattle would not be selling anything, because the farmer was trying to breed their numbers up before he killed any for the meat. In the barn, there were two pigs, four working horses, and a cow.

A week into their work, the prisoners at last saw the owner of the farm. He was a middle-aged man, with an obvious air of authority around him. He was tall, muscular, and worn. His hands were calloused and his brow creased. His sleeves were always rolled up, and his boots appeared to be older than he was. His surnsme was Jakowitz, and that was what the prisoners called him. They rarely spoke to him, unless he came up to them to show them how to do specifically perform a chore. And even then, a guard had to translate, so they were never alone with Jakowitz. The prisoners respected Jakowitz, because he never let the Nazis have any slack. On his farm, he gave most of the orders. It was only when the security of the prisoners was an issue that he lost any battle. He always seemed frustrated. He was used to running his farm, his way and giving _his_ orders. He had not fought in the war, intending to keep his farm and family safe. He had a pleasant wife, and three younger children. However, they were all rarely seen except for on the Saturdays that the prisoners worked. The children went to school in town during the week, and the wife worked in the factory on the other side of town. Therefore, it was always the good farmer himself stomping around his estate, ensuring that things were done right. When the children were home, they stuck close to the house and barn. The prisoners were a marvel to them, and sometimes they would just watch them work. The prisoners, however, were kept as far away as possible from all the other inhabitants on the farm except for Jakowitz. The guards kept any contact that was unnecessary _verboten_. Even, one Saturday, the wife had come outside with warm bread, and had tried to give it to the five prisoners working in the barn. She was shooed away, and went back inside with an apologetic glance towards the prisoners.

That was on September 1st. Peter and Luke had been in the barn, cleaning out the stalls. (Stephen was always with the sheep herd, since that was his profession before the war.) Peter and Luke had longingly watched the bread go back inside. Berg marched in, telling them to go back to work. As Peter went back to chucking out slop from the pigs' stall (something he had never imagined himself doing—he was from East End after all) he thought of how he had been a prisoner now for three months. It seemed like an eternity. The future was now always certain. Day-by-day, of course. The far future, though, that was uncertain. It was so far away, and the paramount concern of each prisoner was to make it through the next day. Thoughts went to home, and what took place there. Major Duerr had told them that their information had gone off, so that one day they would get a letter. That was last month. Many wondered if it was all a lie, for no one had received a scrap of paper from the faraway lands they called home.

Some wondered if they would ever see those faraway lands again.

***** ***** *****

August 13, 1940

Louis looked at the building in front of him and wondered if perhaps he had a guardian angel after all. He could not help but smile as the guard gave him a push into the back door of a Polish restaurant. It was the kitchen that he was ushered into. And as soon as the door opened he found himself staring into the business end of a ladle. The chef was going absolutely crazy towards the guards, exclaiming incomprehensible words.

Louis was sure he knew their meaning however. _He_ would be angry if he was forced to have someone work in his kitchen. The guard, however, was flatly shooting down all arguments with a hand towards his pistol and a threat to call the police. The chef gave up then, and the guard stated once more that the chef needed workers, so he got one.

Louis was surprised when the guard actually left the kitchen, but a quick peek outside the window showed him that the guard was standing right outside the door. He looked back at the chef who was rambling at him in Polish.

_"Jakie są Pana? Francja? Anglicy? Mają Państwo zostało nawet w kuchni oprócz armii kafeterii? Czytelnik zapewne nie uczynili przekraczających skórką ziemniaków w wojsku." (1)_

Louis just blinked, which made the chef throw his ladle across the kitchen. A boy, another worker in the kitchen, peeked over the counter apprehensively. He flinched when the chef kicked a pot across the floor. It clattered loudly against the wall.

Louis just sighed. How was he supposed to convince this man that he _did_ know what he was doing in a kitchen? How was he supposed to convince this chef that he was in fact a gourmet chef? Well, not quite professionally yet, but he had trained with the best.

He waited patiently for the chef to settle down. After a couple of minutes of ranting to no one but perhaps the shy boy behind the counter, the chef stopped pacing and sat down on a stool next to his stove. He looked at Louis, who had remained standing in the same spot since he arrived.

_"To, co mam czynić?" (2)_

Hearing that it was indeed a question, Louis just shrugged his shoulders, giving the slightest answer of "I don't know".

The chef shook his head, and closed his eyes, looking heavenward.

_"Dlaczego Bóg? Dlaczego mnie i moich restauracji?" (3)_

Upon hearing another question, Louis shrugged again.

Then, the boy came from around the counter and stood before the chef.

_"Jestem pewien mógłby przechowywać w kuchni czysta dla nas, Papa. Każdemu żołnierzowi wie jak do czyszczenia." (4)_

The chef smiled gratefully at the boy, and Louis supposed that the boy was trying to be encouraging. The chef then stood up, and with a regretful look towards Louis, motioned the French prisoner to follow. He was brought to a closet, and inside was a broom, mop, and water bucket. Louis sighed, realizing what his job would be.

_"Za, Pani wie tego, czego Państwo musi przechowywać ją wykonać. czyste, lub dam a bad sprawozdanie do państwa straży granicznej. He was nawiedzę później." (5)_

Louis just nodded, imagining what may be said. He had an idea, because if someone had been forced into _his_ kitchen, he would make them do the same and threaten them in the same way. So, he picked up the broom, and went straight to his job. The chef seemed satisfied that the prisoner was at least trying to keep the kitchen clean.

The first week crawled in Louis's mind. When he was back at camp, though, he found that all of his friends thought it very ironic that he was in a kitchen. Peter didn't understand what the big idea was about someone coming to work in a kitchen. If it needed to be clean, it was all the same to him.

But Louis put him straight quickly, much to everyone's entertainment. And eventually Peter admitted that yes, he too would have an issue with being told who he must keep at work.

"Would you let me work in your kitchen Louie," asked Peter.

Louis smiled evilly through the fence. "Never."

"Wot?! Why?! I could at least clean!"

"But you would do something to the food. I know it!"

"I'm 'urt, mate, really 'urt. 'Ow could you say a thing like that?"

"Easy: I know it's true."

They were talking alone. Luke and Stephen were kicking a soccer ball around, and Marcel was off with Arcenau somewhere. Red Cross packages had finally come bearing treats like condensed milk and chocolate and cigarettes, and also board games and cards. Peter had taken one of the decks and kept it in his pocket ever since. Right now, he was fooling around with them in his hands as he and Louis walked the fence line talking.

Peter gave him an innocent puppy face. "Not even if I was starvin' an' needed a job?"

"Well, maybe if you were starving and needed a job. But you still would not be allowed in the kitchen. You would be the _maître de porte._ I think you could manage that."

Peter scowled. "I'll 'ave you know that I worked in a kitchen when I was twelve years old!"

"_Phui!_ That was an English pub. That 'ardly means you qualify for the intense atmosphere of a gourmet kitchen."

Peter just chuckled.

_"A que riez-vous?_" (6)

"You take all o' this so seriously! 'Ow intense could a kitchen possibly get? I know there's a rush 'our, but you can't convince me that it's all that tough."

"There's a lot I could try to convince you of, and yet your little English brain just wouldn't be able to 'andle it all."

"Oh, you're just sour because you know I'm right."

"Since when 'ave you been right about anything since we met?"

There was silence for an answer.

"Well, it's only been three months or so."

Louis laughed. Then, the whistle blew signaling the end of the recreation hour. It was time to go back in and then a measly dinner would be served.

"Do not worry, Pierre," said Louis with a sly grin. "One day, I will let you work in my kitchen, and you will see that it is definitely a calling."

"We'll see," said Peter. "See you tomorrow."

_"Au revoir."_

As Peter walked off, he realized that that was the first time he had talked of the future, so certain it would be there.

A month later, Louis resigned to the fact that this was where he would be as long as he remained at Stalag XXXA. He only saw the back of the restaurant and the outside of it. But apparently it was quite busy, because the chef, his boy, and a lady who Louis assumed was the chef's wife, were always at work.

Louis watched their business from afar. The boy, who he learned was called Mikolaj, mostly did some other cleaning and chopped up vegetables and such. He also boiled noodles (Louis never knew Poland had noodles) and rice. The wife, Janina, baked and made deserts and gathered the drinks. There were two waiters, but Louis rarely saw them. They were two young girls, perhaps not even out of secondary school.

Aside from motioning over and giving orders that could not be understood, the chef, Karol Symanski, ignored Louis as much as possible. Louis always arrived at the same time, promptly ready to begin his days' chores. He was not the only prisoner in town. His entire _barracke _worked in town. Marcel worked in a tailor shop, and mostly organized the colors and materials. He reported that it was a very dull job. All the prisoners in town were kept out of sight as much as possible. They were only seen in public when they were marched in and marched out.

One day, Mikolaj was not there. Karol and Janina were splitting up his duties, but they were obviously having some difficulties. So, hoping Karol would not mind, while Jamina was pulling something out of the oven and setting it to the side to cool, Louis chopped up some more vegetables. When she went back to the cutting board, she was surprised to find her work done.

_"Dziękuję, Karol." (7)_

Karol did not look up from stirring a pot. "Thank you for what," he asked in Polish.

"Cutting the vegetables," answered Jamina.

"I did not—" He spun around and looked at Louis. "You! Did you cut them?!"

Louis froze in the doorway. He was going to throw out some trash. Looking back, he saw that astounded fury on Karol's face.

_"Ja wam powiedział do nigdy nie dotykać w kuchni niczego innego." (8)_

Louis, realizing how angry Karol was, just shook his head, putting on the most innocent expression he could.

_"J'aidais juste!" (9)_

Karol looked like he could hit Louis. The guard (the same guard who always watched Louis, Corporal Alaric) came in, wondering why the door was open and no one had come out. Seeing how angry Karol was, he immediately grabbed Louis by the collar and demanded what had happened.

"I was just trying to help," confessed Louis in English. "They were rushing around, so I cut the vegetables for them. I know how!"

Not releasing Louis, Corporal Alaric explained to Karol what Louis had done.

"He did not cut them badly," said Jamina softly to her husband. She held some pieces in her hand. "You see? They are so well done that I thought you had cut them."

Karol looked at them. "Yes, they are cut well." He sighed, and looked at Louis. "What was your occupation before the war?"

Louis looked at his guard for a translation. He smiled at the question. "I worked in my uncle's restaurant in Paris. I am his assistant chef."

Corporal Alaric chuckled at the irony of the situation and then translated Louis's answer back to Karol and Jamina. Jamina just smiled gratefully, and Karol just looked genuinely surprised.

"You mean, this whole time I thought you were a worthless soldier, you were actually a real chef from Paris," asked Karol after a moment.

Corporal Alaric laughed. "I will go back out now, and you may have him do what you wish. But he must stay in the kitchen."

"He will," said Karol, almost excitedly. "I promise."

Corporal Alaric just laughed again and went back outside, closing the door behind him.

After that day, Louis had more freedom in the kitchen, and ended up working side by side with young Mikolaj in cutting up vegetables, boiling other foods, and also cleaning. Though it was still diminutive work, Karol no longer regarded him as an annoying tick and he even was able to have some extra food every now and then.

Also, though it felt terrible, he could not help but steal some extra bread. Though it felt horrible the first time, when he saw how his comrades' eyes lit up when they saw more bread, it was a pleasant reward. The next time he was able to slip some into his pocket, he saved it for Peter, Luke, and Stephen. They were able to toss some pieces through the fence while the guard looked the other way.

Louis never thought he would steal, and Peter teased him for it. But now he understood why: going to bed with a full stomach had never been more satisfying.

* * *

Translations:

(1) What are you? French? English? Have you even been in a kitchen besides the army's cafeteria? You probably have done no more than peel potatoes in the military.

(2) What do I do with you?

(3) Why god? Why me and my restaurant?

(4) I am sure he could keep the kitchen clean for us, Papa. Every soldier knows how to clean.

(5) Now, you know what you must do. Clean, or I will give a bad report to your guard and he will later punish you.

(6) What are you laughing at?

(7) Thank you, Karol.

(8) I told you to never touch anything else in the kitchen.

(9) I just helped!


	17. The Return of the Blitz

**Chapter Seventeen: T****he**** R****eturn ****of the B****litz**

September 8, 1940

The prisoners woke up to the whistle at 0600 as usual. All seemed normal. It was just another day. That was until after the guards made their report and Major Duerr returned back to his office. Immediately after he was gone, the guards took to boasting about the latest news on the war. For a long time, there was nothing to report. Basically, the UK and Germany were just staring at one another from either side of the English Channel. But the day before, the waiting game had ended. The blitzkrieg had come again.

The French prisoners only glared and turned shoulders, silently taking in the information. The attack had now begun on Great Britain and all wondered how long they would last. The reaction of the British prisoners, however, was what changed the mood for the day. Immediately, as the news was being told, boos and jeers came from the large crowd of Brits. Then, when they were told it was only London, the calls got louder and more threatening. Tension began to rise in the ranks. The guards realized that the prisoners were rallied up some, and raised their guns.

Then, without warning, Sergeant Wilkerson, the camp medic for the British, suddenly stepped out of line. The guards stepped forward, but stopped when he turned their backs to him and faced the British ranks.

"Silence," he yelled.

Though Wilkerson was definitely not the superior man in the camp, the prisoners heeded his order; they fell silent.

Wilkerson looked over them all. "Now form ranks! Real ones! Just as if you were back at home on the base." At first there were looks of confusion. "Come on, lads! Don't just stand there like you've never heard the word rank. Get going!"

Quickly, and in surprisingly good time, the British rearranged themselves into platoons, putting themselves in order of rank, and then divided almost equally into infantry and air force. When they were done, they all stood at attention, with completely stoic faces.

"That's better," said Wilkerson. "You're in the British Army, so for God's sake, you had better act like it."

He then did an about-face and fell back in line, facing the Germans. The Germans were now perplexed at what had just happened. The guards were unsure if they should deal out any punishment. Every prisoner was absolutely still, as if Prime Minister Winston Churchill was inspecting their ranks. Also, there was an air of resilience amongst them all. The guards looked to one another, unsure of what to do next.

Then, softly at first, someone broke the silence:

_"__God save our gracious King,  
Long live our noble King."_

"Quiet," Berg called out sternly.

The voice was hushed, but a moment later was picked up by another prisoner, in a more adamant tone.

_"God save the King!  
Send him victorious,  
Happy and Glorious." _

"Silence," cried Berg again. "Once more and you will all—"

The next lines were sung by an entire platoon.

_"__Long to reign over us;  
God save the King!"_

The song halted momentarily, as if the prisoners were waiting to see what would happen next. When there was no quick response from the guards, they picked up the next verse quickly and more strongly.

_"O Lord our God arise,  
Scatter his enemies  
And make them fall;  
Confound their politics,  
Frustrate their knavish tricks,  
On Thee our hopes we fix,  
Oh, save us all!"_

Major Duerr came stomping out of his office. He looked to Berg. "What is going on out here, Sergeant? Are the prisoners present or not?"

Berg looked back at the prisoners, who were still singing steadily.

_"Thy choicest gifts in store  
On his be pleased to pour  
Long may he reign;  
May he defend our laws…"_

"_Jawohl_," answered Berg. "They are all here. We already counted. But when they heard the news of the bombings in London, they…they began to sing."

As to emphasize Berg's words, the British began to sing louder.

_"__And ever give us cause  
To sing with heart and voice,  
God save the King!"_

Berg looked back at his commanding officer. "What do you want us to do?"

"I want you to stop them," answered Duerr sternly. The voices grew even louder.

_"Not in this land alone,  
But be God's mercies known,  
From shore to shore!"_

Duerr grabbed Berg's shoulder. "Though I will treat them humanely, they must not rebel. They must not keep all their spirit. Stop them!"

Berg turned back to the prisoners, calling for his men to move in and silence the prisoners. But his orders were dim compared to the singing now.

_"Lord make the nations see,  
That men should brothers be,  
And form one family,  
The wide world over."_

Berg yelled at his men, and waved his hands, signaling for them to go in. The guards started walking towards the prisoners, their guns raised. But all they met was a roar of patriotic sense and the defiance of a spirit which could not be broken.

_"FROM EVERY LATENT FOE, _

_ FROM THE ASSASSINS BELOW,_

_ GOD SAVE THE KING!_

_ O'ER HIS THINE ARM EXTEND, _

_ FOR BRITIAIN'S SAKE DEFEND, _

_ OUR FATHER, PRINCE, AND FRIEND, _

_GOD SAVE THE KING!" _

Then, it was utter silence. Against the roar, the guards had been able to do nothing. The British finished with their chests puffed out, and their eyes shining. The French, whose _appel_ had already ended, were gathered at the fence. They looked on with awe and excitement. Berg looked at Duerr questioningly. The Major's expression was unreadable, but unnervingly calm.

Then, someone else came from Duerr's office. Another officer calmly walked out, and stood behind Duerr, watching the scene. The prisoners regarded him as no one, because they were more concerned with their disciplinarian.

"You will all go to work without breakfast," stated Duerr firmly. No one doubted it. "And you will also go to bed without dinner. You will have no recreation time for a week, and this punishment also goes for your French comrades. I am sure they will thank you for that."

However, out of their resistance, the French prisoners responded enthusiastically.

"_Vive la France!"_

"_Vive la liberté!_"

_"Dieu épargne le Roi!"_

_ "Vive le King!"_

"Silence," yelled Duerr. He shot the French an annoyed look, and the guards on that side of the fence pushed them away, but not into the barracks.

Then, there was laughter, and every eye looked to the officer who had come out after Duerr. The guards went to attention, as well as Duerr.

"_Herr Oberst,_" said Duerr, after snapping off a salute. "Can I help you with something?"

So this was the Kommandant. Every prisoner, and even guard, watched with immense curiosity.

"Major," said the Kommandant. "You will get nothing from these men. They were just informed that there country is under attack, and will inevitably loose the fight." He spoke in almost perfect English.

"'Ow is it that all these German officers know English," whispered Peter to Luke beside him.

"Dunno," mumbled Luke.

"Shhhh," said someone.

"_Oberst_," said Duerr. "What do you propose I do?"

"Send them to work," answered the Kommandant. "And make sure your men know to never give bad news to the prisoners again."

"They say they do it to break their spirits, sir," explained Duerr.

The Kommandant's eyes narrowed. "Have we not broken them enough?"

With that, he turned and went back inside.

A long silence followed and then Duerr turned back to the prisoners.

"Back in your barracks," he ordered. "Your punishment stands, and you will go to work as planned." The prisoners stood there. "Go!"

Without needing a second invitation, the British went back inside. Back inside Barracke 14, the prisoners discussed events while nursing their wounds.

"Cor Blimey, that felt good," exclaimed Peter. "Did you see the guards' faces?"

"Aye," growled Stephen. "Oh those bastards really had no clue. If that's wot they're all like, then our lads in the air will hold 'em off easy."

"You really think so," asked Luke.

"I know so," stated Dean adamantly. "They can bomb London all they want, an' all that's gonna do is get us madder."

"Bomb London," whispered Peter fiercely, as if suddenly coming to a realization. "Those murderers! They're bombin' 'omes, not factories! Not bases!"

He kicked a Red Cross box across the floor, and clenched his fists.

Silence fell over the barracks.

"They won't do it forever," said Luke. "They will realize their mistake sooner or later. They'll go after the bases eventually."

"I sure 'ope so," said Everley. "Cause if I go back, an' London isn't there, I'll die. London is a part of who I am. Too much o' wot I am I guess. Cause if it goes, I won't be able to make it either."

Peter looked at him, his eyes sad and yet fierce.

"I'd 'ave to say that I agree, mate," he said. "But even more, if my sister dies, Jerry will 'ave 'ell in a 'and basket 'ere."

***** ***** *****

Later in the day, Peter and Luke were once again cleaning the barn. They were the only ones in there, and though usually they talked about anything and everything while working, this time they were silent. Peter was working with a different sort of energy today. With every toss of the shovel, Luke sensed a ferocity that even he feared. True, Luke was angry that now England was being subjected to the blitzkrieg, but he knew that Peter was most likely taking it harder. London was his home, a place had hoped, as he fought, would remain safe. And now, the citizens would be saying good-bye in the evening with a new meaning to phrase.

Suddenly, Luke could not watch his friend torture himself anymore in silent agony. He stopped working and laid a hand on Peter's shoulder. But Peter flinched and drew away. He looked at Luke.

"Wot?"

"Are you okay," asked Luke tentatively.

"I look fine, don't I," said Peter. He went back to working.

"No, you don't actually," said Luke. Peter just snorted in response. "Look, I'm angry too, but don't let it get the better of you."

Peter stopped and spun around. "Wot's that supposed to mean?"

Luke didn't back down. "I just mean that in a place like this, if you let something eat you up, it'll just make life harder than it already is."

"Life _is_ gonna get 'arder," stated Peter. "It's a proven fact. Life _never_ gets easier; only more difficult. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if life does get easier, it's because you cheated your way to it. You took a shortcut. And then, in the end, when you think you defied all, you get shot down. An' no matter wot you do, you never get back to when life was easy."

"You're right," said Luke. "Life isn't supposed to be easy. But you're wrong too. It's easy when you don't care, or you give up, or you're just plain blind."

"Well," said Peter. "If it's that easy, then I give up." He threw his shovel on the ground. "Maybe I'll just run for it right now. And no matter 'ow many times ole Bergie tells me to _halt_, I won't. I'll just keep runnin'. An' I'll either make it all the way, or I'll get shot. Because I'm never lookin' back."

He turned for the door. Luke grabbed his arm. "Don't you go anywhere! I thought you were better than that! I thought you were stronger than that!"

Peter shoved him roughly against the stall, and kept walking for the door. Luke leapt at him, hitting his legs, and making him fall to the ground. Peter rolled over and tried to get Luke off of him, but Luke fought to keep Peter pinned. They scuffled around, rolling over the hay and mud. Suddenly, Peter landed a punch against Luke's jaw.

Luke fell back, momentarily surprised. But he quickly got back up, once again preventing Peter from getting up and going to the door.

"What about your sister," yelled Luke. "What about her? You going to leave her? You going to let her get a letter one day, saying that you'd been shot while trying to escape?"

Peter froze. Luke grabbed his collar and shoved Peter up against the wall. "You need to stay alive for her. One day, you'll get a letter from her. And you'll get to write her back. Don't you think that maybe she can't wait for your letter too? Just like we wait for the letters from home, don't you think everyone at home can't wait to hear from us? Stop being selfish. Just because we're locked up doesn't mean we have to stop acting strong. You had better not ever die without a good cause." He paused. "And if you need something closer to keep you going, just think about Stephen, Louis, Marcel, and me. We don't want to lose you."

Peter had been still the entire time, looking right into Luke's eyes as he spoke. Suddenly, Luke realized that Peter was shaking. Luke let go of his collar and backed up. He just sat there, looking at Peter while the Corporal contained his emotions. Luke looked away, suddenly realizing that he was sad too. Sadness borne from fear.

They were quiet for a few minutes, neither really feeling like working now. They were content, just sitting there, looking at one another.

Then, someone outside was shouting. German voices were calling after someone. Shots were fired. Peter and Luke jumped up and ran outside. Luke was immediately hit by someone running. Luke and Everley were sprawled on the ground. Suddenly, guards surrounded them all. Peter instantly raised his hands in the air. Everley jumped up, and tried to run on. Peter blocked his path, holding onto Everley's jacket.

"Wot are you doin'," yelled Everley. "Lemme go!"

"Stop Ev," said Peter. "It's over! You can't go anywhere!"

Everley was shaking. "They'll kill 'em! They'll kill me Mum, an' me brothers an' me sisters! It's me 'ome! I won't let them do wot they've done 'ere!"

Luke slowly got up, raising his hands as Berg rushed past him to Everley. He grabbed the corporal roughly by the shoulder and spun him around.

"You are coming back to camp with me," he said. He took out some handcuffs and cuffed Everley's hands together. Then he looked back to Peter and Luke. "Get back to work!"

Luke took Peter's arms and pulled him back inside the barn. He picked up their shovels and handed Peter's his.

"You see," said Luke. "Don't let them get the better of you. You have to be strong."

Peter just nodded and they went back to work.


	18. Of Insults, Threats, and Letters

**Chapter Eighteen: O****f Insults, ****T****hreats, a****nd**** L****etters**

September 15, 1940

Corporal Everley Blackwell was the first prisoner to be sent to the cooler. Everyone was sure that he would get a good amount of time, but in fact, he was only sentenced a week. Many prisoners thought that the lack of severity was due to their strange Kommandant. The Kommandant had yet to be seen since the day of the fight. And yet, he was the talk of the camp. Even the guards wondered about their strange commanding officer. Major Duerr was the only one who knew anything, but his loyalty kept him quiet.

A week later, when Everley was released, there was some celebration amongst the British POWs. Since the fight, they had been unusually quiet and even more pompously British than ever. There were hardly any displays of emotion, accept pride. Though the French were rather annoyed, it was good to see that normality had fallen over the Brits and that they were becoming even more companionable towards one another. The British had closed ranks, and it was unlikely now that anyone would be broken as long as they stayed close.

Released from the cooler, Everley was different. His happy-go-lucky smile and loud mouth talk turned to sad eyes and mostly silence. Some said that this change was not brought on wholly by the cooler, but in fact by the knowledge of the Blitz. Some prisoners were changed just by the fact that their family, whom they had thought safe, was now in danger. It was suddenly as if the whole world was against them. Though Everley remained a natural-born nuisance, there was always a look in his eyes that betrayed that some of him was gone.

Louis and Marcel witnessed the change in their friends from the other side of the fence. When they were able to talk, it was almost only Stephen and Luke exchanging words. And even then, Luke seemed to be the only one unaffected by the news of the Blitz. Stephen had assured himself that since his family lived in the country, there was little worry. He became more stoic just knowing that his country was being attacked thus. Luke, though his family lived in the city, was so far assured by that there was no reason to bomb his part of town. He was more worried about his comrades around him.

Peter had gone off in a lot of ways like Everley. He talked less, and whatever he said lacked some of the life his voice had held before, his eyes were sad and elsewhere. No doubt, he was constantly thinking of his home, family, and friends. Everyone knew that London was being targeted nightly. And everyone knew that the factories and shipyards were surrounded by the lowest places in London. So, the Londoners were given some space, and the Cockneys given more. And day after day, some guard would remind them that their home had just been bombed the night before. Though London was a large city, some were beginning to see it as a smaller place, where there was nowhere to hide.

On the day that Everley was released, Peter went off to find Louis at the fence. He had slipped away from Luke, who was always watching him with worried eyes. It was the beginning of the recreation hour, so Peter was hoping that the football game would be keeping his friends busy enough to forget about worrying over him. As expected Louis was faithfully at the fence. They always met, just to trade a few words. Sometimes, if a game was being played, they said little. Other times they spent the whole hour talking about anything and everything. But each time they just had to see one another.

"_Bonjour Pierre_," said Louis, as Peter stopped at the fence.

"'Ello Louie," answered Peter. "'Ow was work today?"

"_Bon_," replied Louis. "But I did not get any tips." That was code that he had not come back with any extra bread today.

Peter nodded, and smiled. "That's alright. I found some tips in the 'orse shoe." Horse shoe was their code word for the Jakowitz's farm.

Louis's eyebrows rose at the lucky break of finding bread at the barn. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did you find it, or did you pinch it?"

Peter chuckled, and it sounded real enough for Louis. "I didn't pinch it, Frog. I really did find it. Though, I think it was left by the Missus." He referred to Mrs. Jakowitz.

Louis nodded. "You 'ave it on you now?"

"Yea," answered Peter. "One piece for you, an' another piece for Marcel."

They both watched their guard pass by. The guards between the divisional fence were spread out. So after about thirty seconds, he was well away. Peter quickly pulled out the two pieces of bread and tossed them through the fence. They hit the ground right inside the fence from Louis. Louis quickly stuck his hand through and retrieved them. Standing up, he slipped them into his pocket.

"_Merci beaucoup, mon ami_," said Louis. They both glanced around, but no one appeared to have noticed anything unusual. They were also keeping the secret of extra food from most of their fellow prisoners. They were worried someone might become too desperate and cause trouble for everyone.

Louis studied Peter thoughtfully. "And 'ow are you?"

"Fine," answered Peter quickly.

Louis sighed. "_Non, Pierre_. Really, I know you are worried about your family back 'ome. Do you want to talk?"

Peter looked at the ground, and scuffed his foot in the dirt. "You got a family, Louie?"

"_Oui_," he answered. "Not of my own, though. I am not married. But I 'ave many sisters, and _mes grand-parents_ lived with us as well. You?"

"It's just me sister an' meself," answered Peter, not looking right at Louis. "Me da left when I was eleven, but not before 'e got me mum pregnant again. So Mavis came when I was twelve. But me Mum died about a year or so ago. An' Mavis, she's only sixteen years old." He looked at Louis. "_Sixteen_. I mean, she ain't a little kid anymore, but she's not an adult either. I left 'er to go work. She knew 'ow to take care o' 'erself, and the neighbors an' a few friends o' mine promised to keep an eye on 'er. But now…now no one'll spare 'er a second thought. Not while our 'ome is bein' bombed. They'll be more worried about their own skin. All I can think is that I left 'er, an' now she'll be on 'er own, _in a war_. It was bad enough leavin' 'er in that city in the first place. But now, now she's in a flippin' war zone!"

Louis sighed. "Pierre, you said you were twelve when she was born?" Peter nodded. "And what 'appened to you? Your father was gone, so your mother 'ad to take care of you both. Did you 'elp?"

"O'course I did," answered Peter heatedly. "I quit school—not that I cared too much about that—an' went to work. Then, I went the wrong way an' ended up in the gutter."

"But you still took care of yourself and _ta famille_ when you were twelve-years-old like an adult," argued Louis. "Do you not think that your sister can take care of 'erself when she is already sixteen? I am sure she can fend for 'erself, and I am sure that she is not alone like you may think. She 'ad friends, no?" Peter nodded. "Well, they will not leave 'er alone. Do not think so 'arshly of people, Pierre. They are better than you think."

Peter just shook his head. "I sure 'ope you're right Louie. Because I don't see the light in anyone."

Louis clenched his jaw. "You 'ave already given up. I thought maybe you were stronger, because of that day on the train, you said you 'ad been given a second chance. Well, I see that you 'ave already given up, and that you probably already gave up before this war. Because if you believe that, then you will not get very far."

Without another word, Louis spun around and marched off heatedly. Peter watched him go, angry more than he had ever been since he had been captured. He was angry at everything. There never would be rest, would there? He knew his country would probably be attacked, but civilians? He had always known it was coming, that Mavis might be in danger one day, but when it finally came, it was an overwhelming blow of fear that was taking him down now. He was spinning into a fearful depression that he saw no way out of.

Fortunately, that day, there was another reason to celebrate.

As Peter paced the fence angrily, half of him wishing that Louis would come back, and the other half wishing he would never have to see the Frenchman again, a truck pulled into camp. It had the Red Cross insignia and so it immediately caught the prisoners' attention. Perhaps more Red Cross packages? They knew it had to be something good, because the guards began blowing their whistles for everyone to get back inside.

Peter shot another glance into the French compound, but did not see Louis, so he quickly walked back inside.

"What do you think it is," asked Luke enthusiastically.

"Must be Red Cross packages," replied Stephen, looking out the window.

Peter lit a cigarette. "Good, cause I'm runnin' out o' fags."

"Serves you right for smoking all day long," said Luke reprovingly.

"I don't smoke _all_ day," corrected Peter annoyingly. "Farmer Jakowitz doesn't approve of it while we work."

Luke opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Stephen. "Look, officers!"

The prisoners raced to the windows. Indeed, two British officers and two French officers were standing outside the Red Cross truck. All four looked pretty healthy and otherwise unharmed, though skinnier. They were in their officer's uniforms, and when Major Duerr came out, all five men saluted to one another. Then, Duerr led them all into his office, with Berg right behind.

"Wonder why they're here," said Dean.

They all looked outside again, to see some of the guards unloading two large hampers.

"Wot is this," asked Stephen. "They goin' tae do our laudray fer us?"

"They would surely need more hampers than that," said someone else.

"I really doubt they're doin' our laundry," said Everley.

"Hey," said Luke, squinting. "That looks like envelopes. Hey! You think it's--"

"LETTERS!" Nearly everyone finished Luke's sentence for him. Now everyone was straining to see through their two windows. Outside, the guards were poking through them, some shaking their heads.

"How are they going to sort all that out," wondered Dean.

"Maybe they'll just let us go through them," said Luke. "I mean, I don't care what kind of letter I get. Just seeing words written from home would be enough for me."

Everyone murmured in agreement to that. But everyone really knew that they just wanted to see something written by their loved ones. That even though it was probably about a month or two late, anything was better than nothing. Something from home.

"What does it matter anyway," someone said. Everyone looked to Sergeant Timon Lloyd. He had always been a loner and a negative man. No one really liked him because he never had anything good to say. He was also arrogant, and looked down on most of the men. He especially had a feud with Everley and Peter, the only Cockneys in _Barracke _14. The two Cockneys mostly ignored him, but lately, he was the one man who was not going along with the show of sticking together and helping one another out. So, he was hard to forget. Timon walked away from the window and sat down at the table. He looked at everyone's faces, who were gazing down at him reproachfully. "Well," he said again, raising his eyebrows. "What does it matter? We all know those letters are old. Half the people that wrote them could be dead by now."

Immediately, the excited mood in the barracks dropped to an all-time low. Luke rolled his eyes again, suddenly fed up with some people's attitudes. He stepped forward, intending to say something, but was beat to the job. There was a rush of blue, and then Peter had Timon by his collar and shoved up against a bunk.

"You'd better shut up wif all your doomsday talk," growled Peter. "Because it isn't 'elpin' anyone, not even you. You're just makin' things worse, so why don't you keep your mouth shut for a change?"

Timon sneered down at Peter. "Get your hands off of me, _Corporal_." He grabbed Peter's wrists, and then pushed Peter away. Timon was about a head taller than the Corporal and also had a bit more muscle on him too. Peter almost looked like he was going to hit Timon. His fists clenched, and he set his jaw. But instead, he just turned away, and went to the other side of the barracks to look out the window. Everley went with him, but watched Timon oddly.

Timon just smirked and looked at the other men, who were giving him dirty looks. Luke glared at Timon, and then started after Peter. But Timon grabbed Luke's arm.

"Why do you hang around with that type anyway, lad," he asked Luke. "I heard you come from a good family. Don't mess it up here."

"The only way I would mess anything up would be by hanging around you," spat Luke. "Peter is a better man that you would ever be."

Luke started off again, but Timon held onto his arm more tightly. He then grabbed Luke's collar and shook the younger man.

"You can't insult me like that," he said. "You ought to get what you deserve." He began to raise his fist, and the other men stepped forward. But then Timon stepped back quickly when Peter was suddenly in front of him.

Peter's eyes were bright with fury. "Don't you ever threaten 'im again." His tone was cold and sincere. Timon took another step back, slightly unnerved by the look in Peter's eyes.

Everley came to stand beside Peter, and he also looked at Timon. "An' I suggest you stop insultin' us an' our _kind_, as you so _kindly_ put it. Word might get around camp, an' trust me, we will all forget bein' in the British Army, an' suddenly remember 'ow it is to live on the streets an' 'ow to get the message across to people, _to keep their mouth shut_."

Luke half-smirked over Peter's shoulder. Timon spotted it, and his surprised look turned into one of anger. He desired the last word.

"You guys are worried about your families, no," he asked. He did not expect a response so went on. "Well, what does it matter anyway, because even if they do survive, they _nor_ you will ever leave the gutters. Your brothers will become like you, and you both know where your sisters will end up."

Well, that was the last straw for both Everley and Peter. They both lunged at Timon, and each grabbed an arm. They opened the door and pushed him out. Timon fell down onto the dirt. He looked up, and was too slow to get up before Peter had one of his arms. While Timon attempted to pry Peter off of him, Everley punched him in the face. Then again, and again. Timon was half dazed, and didn't see Peter's boot coming. He grimaced as the boot hit his gut. Then his ribs. Timon lay curled up, one arm over his stomach, and one over his head, in a pathetic attempt to prevent any more hits.

Everley and Peter stood over him, breathing heavily, out of anger and exhilaration. Their adrenaline was pumping overboard. The other prisoners were at the door and the steps, just watching. This was not their fight, so no one interfered. Except then Luke stepped forward.

"Just stop," he pleaded.

"Stay out o' this Luke," said Peter, not even looking at the younger man. "You don't understand."

"No, I don't," replied Luke. "But I know that what you're doing is hardly better than him. That's not a fight; it's a beating."

Peter spun around. "Listen: you said I was better man than him. I appreciate the faith, but you're wrong. I fought on the streets, and then I beat up other guys too. All in the name o' money. Sorry to break it to you." He looked back at Timon. "But this, this is about my sister, an' I think Everley will say the same. You've stepped over the line, mate."

Timon smiled. "I can take a beating, Corporal, and when you're through, Berg will want to know how I have so many bruises. And I will just have to tell him about you two." He started to slide away from them. But Peter and Everley leapt forward, and in a few moves, Timon was pinned down by both of them, and there was a knife pressed to his throat. The other prisoners gasped.

"No," yelled Luke. "Peter, don't!"

"Ev," yelled Stephen. "Ev, if you kill someone you'll be in that cooler forever!"

"Jerry will kill you," cried Dean.

Even though they desperately yelled, no one would step forward. It was still not their fight, and if someone spotted them, they did not want to be involved. Timon remained still, now realizing that he had indeed stepped over the line. He did not want to induce their wrath any more, and hoped by that keeping his mouth shut and making no movements, they would do nothing.

"If we 'ear another word out o' your mouth about us bein' scum an' our families bein' scum, then you'll find yourself dead faster than Jerry can ever pull the trigger," said Everley in a low tone.

"An' a word about this—" Peter gestured to the knife he had pressed to Timon's throat "—an' you'll 'ave the same terms. Understood?"

"Understood," answered Timon weakly.

"Good," said Everley. He backed away, and so did Peter. There was a thin red line underneath Timon's chin, where Peter had just broken the skin some. The two Cockneys glanced around some, but the guards were too preoccupied with the letter situation, and there were none amongst them. But prisoners from other barracks had been watching the scene from their windows. They now regarded Everley and Peter a bit more warily than they had before. But they just turned and went inside. When the other prisoners returned back in, the knife was gone. Luke and Stephen went straight for Peter. They grabbed his collar, pulled him away from the window, and dragged him to his bunk. They sat him down and sternly looked at him.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ do that again," said Luke firmly, as if he was reprimanding a child. "I don't even know where you got that knife, but please don't get yourself killed by doing something so stupid like that."

"'E insulted my sister, an' I'd enough o' 'is gloominess, an' enough o' 'im talkin' so badly about me an' anyone else that was _fortunate_ enough to be from East End," said Peter.

"But ye cannae let him bother ye," said Stephen. "Ye've got tae ignore people like that. I mean, who knows how long we'll be in this place, and we'll undoubtedly meet all sorts o' people. Ye gonna threaten every single one o' them that glances at ye wrong?"

"No," answered Peter indignantly.

"Right," continued Stephen. "So ye'd better keep that knife oot o' a sight so that maybe it'll be there for more important times."

"Like wot," asked Peter.

"Like for maybe when we escape," said Luke. "We are bound to need a knife then."

"Escape," spat Peter. "We talk an' talk about escape, but no one 'as done anythin'."

"Including you," replied Luke. "You _are_ the one who said you would not be locked up for long."

"Look, mate," said Peter, standing up. "I said that because I was tryin' to 'elp you out at the time. But 'ave you 'ad a look around? Gettin' out o' 'ere won't be easy. In fact, it's likely to never 'appen. Wot _you_ need to do is start worryin' about reality. I appreciate you trying to make things better for, but you just can't. Wot's 'apened 'as 'appened, an' wot's gonna 'appen, is gonna 'appen. _If_ you 'aven't noticed, we don't 'ave much of a say around 'ere."

"Well, Corporal, if that is what you think, then I had best get myself moved to another barracks."

Everyone turned around and looked to the door, where no other than Captain James Lawrence stood watching them.


	19. From Home, With Love

**Chapter Nineteen: F****rom**** H****ome,**** W****ith**** L****ove**

"Captain Lawrence!" Luke took a few steps to the officer. "What are you doing here?"

Lawrence shut the door, and he, and another officer with him stepped further into the barracks, all eyes on them. The other officer was a Second Lieutenant, and appeared very cool and calm.

"They took out some officers from the Oflag camp and put them here, because apparently things were getting out of hand," he said. "I think your Kommandant believes that with officers, you will at least behave better."

"Depends on wot they mean by behave," commented Everley with a mischievous grin.

"Well, _Corporal_," said Timon, sitting up quickly. He shot a glance towards Everley and Peter and then walked up to Lawrence. He gave off a smart salute, which Lawrence returned accordingly. "Sir, Sergeant Timon Lloyd reporting, and I would like to report some severe events. These men—" he pointed to Peter and Everley "—threatened me. Corporal Newkirk even had a knife to my throat."

Everyone looked to Peter, and the Cockney met Lawrence's gaze evenly and confidently.

"Well, Corporal," asked Lawrence.

"That's the truth, sir," answered Peter. "I speak for Corporal Blackwell as well, I believe." Everley nodded his approval.

Lawrence nodded, too, and looked to Timon. "How were they provoked?"

Stephen and Luke grinned. Oh, Lawrence knew Peter too well.

"Provoked, sir," asked Timon uncertainly.

"Yes," replied Lawrence without batting an eye. "I do not believe that someone would threaten you unless they were provoked."

"Aye, matay," said Stephen pointedly. "Why don't ye tell him why Peter and Ev threatened ye."

Now, all eyes were expectantly looking at Timon. He found no friendly or helpful faces in the crowd. Looking back at Lawrence, he answered truthfully, "I insulted them and their families."

"An' we'd 'ad enough o' it," put in Everley.

"Ah, so it's been a bit of a feud for some time now," asked Lawrence.

"You could say that," answered Timon sheepishly. Though he appeared cowed—and he was—he still gave an unhappy look to Peter and Everley, who were indeed looking high and mighty.

"Well," said Lawrence. "We will do this: just like on the march, those punished miss some sort of meal. I think, because I know this is a work camp, it will just be that your Red Cross packages are withheld for a week."

"Oh, bloody 'ell," growled Peter. He looked at his last cigarette gloomily. Luke smiled at him triumphantly.

"I guess that's fair enough," said Everley. "But can I 'ear the charges?"

"Ev," said Dean. "You know the charges."

"But 'e didn't say 'em," pointed out Everley. "I've got to 'ear exactly wot it is we're bein' charged of. It's just a 'abit I've gotten into over the years."

The men chuckled.

"Fair enough," echoed Lawrence. "You Corporal Blackwell, and Corporal Newkirk, are being charged with threatening a superior, and a fellow comrade-in-arms." Everley nodded approvingly. Lawrence half-smiled and went on. "And you, Sergeant Lloyd, are being charged with unfairly insulting and provoking your fellow comrades-in-arms." Timon just sighed and nodded. "That good enough for you, Corporal?"

"Sure thing, guv," answered Everley.

"That's sir, Corporal," said Lawrence.

"Right then, _sir_," replied Everley. He was not angry, but seemed to be having fun with the Captain.

"Wait a minute," said Timon.

"Yes, Sergeant," asked Lawrence, trying not to sound annoyed.

"What about Corporal Newkirk's knife," asked Timon. "I think it's kind of suspicious that he has one."

"Want to explain," said Lawrence, looking to Peter. It was an order, not a question.

"I wasn't searched when I got 'ere," said Peter. "Iffen you remember correctly, I was left on the road by 'Aussler. After I got out o' the infirmary, I was brought straight 'ere. I've still got lock picks an' me pencil sharpener."

"Pencil sharpener," asked Stephen.

"Well, mate," said Peter. "I don't want to go blabberin' on about a knife, do I?" He grinned and went on. "Whenever we 'ave to take showers at the delousin' station, I just 'ide em in 'ere."

"Where is it now," asked Luke.

"I ain't givin' that away," said Peter.

"That might actually be for the better," said Lawrence.

Timon's eyes bugged out. "Are you kidding, sir? He had that knife to my throat!"

"But did he kill you," asked Lawrence. "Obviously not. He has more sense than that, and now you know not to insult anyone. Also, are really certain he would kill you? Jerry would kill him right back." Timon's argumentative expression died off. "Now," said Lawrence again. "I wouldn't want to know where it is, because the less people who know, the better. That way, Jerry will not be finding out so easily if any question should be asked. Sergeant McLean is correct. That knife might be useful later on, when we start cracking down on the escape business."

Everyone looked at one another uncertainly.

"It sounds like you have some plans already Captain," said Luke.

"I do," answered Lawrence. "You see, officers are not made to work, so back at the Oflag camp, we have already been trying out some things, and before I was transferred out of there, we had made some progress in some areas."

"Like what? Tunnels," asked someone.

"Not yet," said Lawrence. "Look, I'll explain later, when we can have a formal meeting about it. The French officers will be doing the same. The best way to do this is to organize it so that we can be escaping at the same time from both sides, so that one side is not affected too much about what goes on, on the other. Make sense?"

"Sort of," said Dean. "Maybe we ought to wait for the meeting though, whenever that will happen."

"Whenever we can get it coordinated," said Lawrence. He looked to the officer on his left, who had thus far been silent. "This is Second Lieutenant William O'Neill. He will be setting up an escape committee, and eventually we'll be able to get something going. He was integral in the one we had going on at the Oflag."

Everyone looked at O'Neill. The guy was much younger than Lawrence, and he gave them all a friendly smile.

"I won't be giving any of you chaps a recruiting speech, because I don't think anyone needs one to try and escape," he said. "But that doesn't mean everyone is included. If you don't participate, you don't get to go, and if you compromise anything or may appear to compromise something in the future, you're off the list too. With lives at stake, we can't take too many unnecessary risks."

"So how do we know priority," asked Dean. "Who gets to go first if we pull it off?"

"We pull for it," answered O'Neill. "However many people we think can go, we pull that many names out of the hat. That way, it's fair and square. You get your name in the hat by helping out and not presenting any sort of problem."

The men exchanged looks, each seeing that this was a fair and square deal here.

"Fine then," said Peter. "Sign me up. No use in waitin' 'round 'ere for someone to break me out."

"Count me in too," said Luke quickly. He looked at Peter. "You promised after all."

Lawrence and O'Neill were pleased when the barracks voiced that they would all help in any way they could. No one's name was really taken down. It was a waste of paper and a good way for the Germans to find out that something was up. So once the two officers were satisfied, they left the barracks, and moved onto the next, no doubt trying to get everyone in on it.

"I wonder wot we're gettin' ourselves intae," said Stephen, watching the two officers from the window.

"As long as it's out," said Peter. He lit his last cigarette. "That is all I want to do: get out o' 'ere."

***** ***** *****

Louis was waiting with bated breath in their roll call line. Everyone was. Even the two officers who had just been transferred seemed to be about to burst with anticipation of what was about to come. There was much reason to be excited today so far. The officers had come, ready to organize escapes, and now, the letters were here.

The prisoners were in line, about to receive their letters, before they were sent back inside for the evening. The Germans had finally gotten them all sorted out, which had seemed to take eternity. The guards began to hand out the letter based on barracks. They gave a stack of letters to one man from each barracks, and when everything was passed out, they were sent back inside.

Unfortunately for Private Torben Arcenau, he had been given the letters for his barracks. As soon as they were inside, he was surrounded by his comrades, all desperately at him for the letters.

"Okay! Okay!" he cried. "Just hold up and you will get your letters!" That quieted everyone down. He sighed and then went off to read the names on the letters. "Moreau, Depaul, Girard, Chevalier, ooh, look mine…um, Boucher, D'Orléans—" Marcel took his quickly and retreated to his bunk, like others had already done. Louis looked back towards Torben hopefully. "—Rousseau, Lafevre, Ponthieux, Simon, Thomas, LeBeau—" Louis snatched his away and climbed up onto his bunk, ripping open the envelope. He tossed it aside, focusing everything on the letters.

There were several; more than he could have hoped for. They were all bound in one envelope, ensuring that he would receive them all. There was one from his grandparents, one from his _Mère _and _Père_, his two older sisters, his _Oncle_ Jacque, one letter from a few of his sisters, one letter from Daphne, and lastly, and—the most touching one to him—a letter from Jean's father.

_Dear Louis,_

_ First, I should say how all of us--your family and friends--are relieved to have received the news that you were alive. For such a long time, all we were hearing from the north as terrible news. So many men were MIA and for so long as well. It was only yesterday that we all received word about what had become of your unit. Most of them were killed or captured. A small few were able to escape to the British Isles, where they now hope to rejoin the fight. The escape from Dunkerque is an amazing story. We listened to Prime Minister Winston Churchill over the BBC radio, before we were occupied. He told of how it was a miracle that so many men were able to get away. The word was that well over 65, 000 soldiers were able to escape. Unfortunately, many were left behind. _

_ Also with word of your capture, we got word of Jean's death. I am writing you not to question or interrogate you, but just to let you know. I am sure your family has let you know. We know that your regiment was split up, so we have no idea as to whether you knew of Jean's death. If you did not know, I am sorry that you must learn this way. If you were there, I am sorry that you had to witness it. I can remember the two of you together since nearly your birth. It was a friendship I hate to see end this way, just as much as you surely are. _

_ I also want you to know that you are like another son to me. You and Jean were brothers; there is no doubt about that. Though he was my son, and he is gone, you are not, and I plan on cherishing that thought. My wife feels the same, and though she cried with your mother at the news of Jean's death, she cried with relief with your mother at the news of your survival. _

_ Well, the Germans have taken us over, and it was a painful sight, especially when they arrived in Paris. Now, their flags hang over our precious city like an infectious disease. I have only been in there once, with your father when we went to go find you uncle. He was fine, and there was only some minor damage to his restaurant. They made him shut it down for some time, but they say he will be allowed to reopen it eventually. Fortunately, the city was not that heavily damaged, because the German force was so overwhelming, the really just rolled in after the fight was over. Many civilians tried to hold them out, but after a time, preservation took over sacrifice, and they surrendered. _

_When our town was taken, it was done so peacefully. They only demanded that we give up all weapon, and there were few to give up, and then they hung their flag over out public offices, and now they stand on the corners of the street as if they own them. They are quiet, and we do not engage in conversation with them. Most of them are young, even younger than you. But we remain strong. The Prime Minister Winston Churchill has promised that France will be liberated. Our General de Gaulle is with him in England with our forces who have escaped, and they can only be scheming on how to fight back. But for now, the war is still. It is just Great Britain, and many wonder how long she will stand. They are strong, I will give the British that, and I pray with many others each night that they will hold out. There is even talk that the Americans are beginning to get more involved. Still they do not want to jump into another war either, which shall separate us for a time. I just hope that they do not wait too long. _

_ That is all I can think of to write for now. You do not have to write me back, because I understand that sometimes paper can be scarce and you will most likely rather write to your family. I am not sure if you remember or not, but during the Great War, I was a prisoner of war. It might be different from then, wherever you are, but I will still give you some advice. Keep your friends close, and never push them away. Friends in a place like that is what will keep you alive, or at least wanting to live to see the next day. I was in a camp for two years, and the first three months nearly drove me crazy. It was not until I started paying more attention to the men around me did I actually calm down. That is about all the advice I can give you, because I do not know your exact situation. Just please, do not give up, because you would do harm even here should you die._

_With a father's love,_

_ Émeric Août_

Louis studied the letter for a long time, feeling the emotion that had been written into it. He had always loved Jean's family as another one, because for so long they had been so close. Still, he was deeply touched and surprised at Émeric's blatant acceptance of what had happened. He did not blame Louis, nor did he mind not getting any news from him. He was only expressing his unconditional love for another son.

The other letters were just as caring and encouraging. Each bore a short story of what had happened when the Germans came, but Louis was relieved that no one had been out rightly killed, as he had seen in Dunkirk. Still, he feared for his family, because each of them implied that they were not going to just back down yet. He wondered to what lengths they would go to do something against _le Boche_. Though he was proud of them, he would still fear for them and pray that they do nothing foolish.

His family had also sent him two blank pieces of paper, and he was glad because that meant he could write them back. He even had some paper left from when the Red Cross packages had come. He pulled out his pencil, and began writing to his family, assuring them that he was okay. He did not tell them about Dunkirk, or the march, but only said that the camp was routinely boring, but that he was lucky enough to work in the kitchen of a restaurant.

After he finished writing his replies, he thought about what Émeric had told him: _Keep your friends close, and never push them away_. He suddenly felt guilty about what he had said to Peter earlier. It was obvious that Peter feared for his sister, now that he knew about the Blitz. Louis knew that Peter was better than what he had said, and that he was acting out of sadness and fear. So, Louis became set on finding Peter tomorrow and talking to him. Even if he was on the other side of the wire, he would not want to have him any further away.

So, Louis pulled out his last piece of paper and began writing to Émeric.

_Dear Monsieur Émeric,_

_ Thank you for what you wrote because I needed to hear it. I will tell you about Jean's death, because I was there, and I witnessed it. I will you because you and your wife deserve to know. We were headed to Dunkerque, when we came upon Germans in a field. They did not see us for the entire night, but we were so close, we feared moving should they hear us. We were outnumbered by them. We had one other man from our unit with us versus their ten or so. In the morning, they discovered us, and we actually wounded most of them in our retreat. But both Jean and our other comrade were hit, and I out of fear, kept running. Jean had been covering for me, and without that, I would have been killed. When he was shot, I felt all life and bravery leave me. I was so scared, I just turned and ran. I can only ask for your forgiveness in acting so cowardly when Jean was so brave. _

_ I am glad you wrote me, because you comforted me, especially with telling me of what you learned while you were a POW. While I thought over your words, I realized that I told nothing of my friends here to my family. So, I would like to share with you about some of the people I have met since I was captured._

_ Before I was captured, I paired up with a downed British airman, Peter Newkirk. He is English, and for a time, we did not get along. But we realized how much we had in common with our patriotic sense for our country, and that we would both die for her and our families' freedom. Now, I think it is safe to say that we are really good friends. We are both in this camp, but there is a fence between us. Still, we talk through it whenever we are allowed, and today we got in an argument. By now, you must all know of the Blitz. We learned of it from the guards. Well, Peter is from London, and he worries for the only family he has left: his sister. We got over an argument, because I thought he was giving up on survival. He is worried, though. But I will take your advice, and I will not let him go away._

_ Peter and I, after being captured formed a close friendship with other men. There is a Frenchman, Marcel D'Orléans and he and I have taken on to each other quickly. We are in the same barracks, and watch out for one another throughout the day. He is from Lyon, so I believe his family is safe from Germans. But he was angry to hear that the Vichy did what they did. We do not fault him, or any soldier from that region for what happened. They are here with us, so they are obviously not collaborators. _

_ The other two men we found were Luke Fairnth and Stephen McLean, obviously British as well. Luke is English, and a light in the dark. He is the youngest of us, and it is obvious to all of us—if not him—that we all want to protect him. Still, he seems to protect more. We try to keep him from physical harm, but without him, we may have emotionally given up. He watches over Peter, even though Peter thinks he is watching over Luke. Peter told me a few days ago that Luke actually kept him from trying a suicide escape attempt, after we learned of the Blitz. _

_ Stephen McLean is Scottish, and the only one out of us that has a family. I am the oldest of all of us, but he acts like it more time. It must come from being a father. He can control all of our tempers with a look that I believe he was born to wear. He is a sheepherder in Scotland, and so sometimes he and I talk farm things, that the others—all city people—have no clue of. On the British side of camp, he keeps an eye on Luke and Peter, who I think at any moment can do the most surprising things. I think, sometimes, that they are connected at the mind, because Luke always knows what Peter is thinking, and Peter can halt unnecessary words that might come out of Luke's mouth with a look of his own. Though he might have learned that from Stephen._

_ Anyway, I have other friends on the French side of camp, and we all get along. There are some who get on my nerves, because they are always moping around. And then sometimes we all get mad at one another, and that's because we live on top of each other. Still, we never let anything come between us in the end. _

_ Thank you for the encouragement and wisdom you sent me. I do hope you write back, because I know that you could always give me more wisdom in anything I might run across here. _

_Sincerely, _

_Louis LeBeau _

***** ***** *****

Peter carefully opened the letter from his sister. He was perched up on his bunk, leaned up against the wall, all attention focused on the letter. The barracks was quiet—quieter than it had ever been when they were all inside. Every man was leaving this place, and going back home, with the words on the paper.

For a moment, Peter's eyes just skimmed over the words, enjoying the sight of Mavis's pleasant handwriting. Then, he began to read, quiet slowly, just to let all the words sink in.

_Dear Peter, _

_ Thank God that you are alive. I had gotten a letter from the RAF, stating that you were MIA. There was a letter from an officer at the base explaining that some had seen your plane shot down. He said there was a chance that you were alive and making your way to the coast, where you might be able to escape. So, the day when the soldiers who were evacuated came into London, because that was where all the hospitals are, I stayed for hours, looking for you. But there was none. No one knew you or anything. A few days later, I got a package from the officer again. He wrote another letter, explaining his sympathies to me for having lost you. The package held all of your belongings, as well as a copy of the last picture that had been taken of you. It was a picture of you and your crewmates standing outside your plane. You all looked so happy and proud. Truthfully, that picture made me more proud of you than ever. _

_ So, I tried to hope that somehow you had survived. There was a lot of news about prisoners of war being taken by the Germans. I hoped that maybe you were amongst them, or that maybe you were still hiding out, trying to make your escape. Each day, some are able to get across the channel. Still, there came no word for quite some time. And we all began to fear the worst._

_ Kingsley, in his pub, has dedicated the wall behind the bar to putting up photos of men who have died so far. They are only those who are from around here, and have been to the pub. You will be relieved that you know none of them personally. All of your buddies are safe. Kingsley and his wife are just as worried for you, and have told me to tell you that when you come back, your job will be waiting for you. Your other good friend, Alfie, was finally put in prison. They are letting out younger men in the prisons to go fight. So, they have decided to fill their spots with other such people. He sent me a letter though, instructing to tell you that you to remember everything he taught you about getting out of tight place. Please, don't get yourself killed following that old man's advice. As for Thom Mackey, they have him at the beach heads, preparing a defense should Jerry come from the sea. That is where most of your friends are. I received other letters from men on the base, telling me how sorry they are that you were killed._

_ Though, I had refused to believe that you were dead, I told Kingsley this, and he also agreed that until there was a body, you were still alive. Actually he did not say that. We were discussing it all at the pub, and some Yank who overheard us told us that. He was some Yank who is joining the RAF because they're too fed up waiting for their own military to act. Since Dunkirk, many have actually come. Most are joining the RAF, but there are a good many that are joining the infantry as well._

_ So, you can imagine my relief when I finally got a letter explaining that you were captured, but alive. Peter, I was beginning to really think you were dead, and now that I now you are alive, I just beg you to do nothing foolish to get yourself killed. I know you will try to escape, but at least have a good plan, and if you can help it, don't let it backfire. I hope you're not alone there, and that you've found some friends to keep you going. Just try and stay alive, can you do that much for me._

_ Lastly, don't worry too much about me. I've moved in with Kinglsey and his wife, so I live above the pub. I still go to school, and I got another job with one my friends. I'm a secretary at an office in the afternoons. It pays better than Kingsley, but he doesn't mind. He's been so good to me, and I'm glad you ever met him. On Sundays, I still go to Church, and then I go visit Mum. I know you don't care much for religion and all that, but it can't do you any harm to just pray a little. I mean, you've made it this far, haven't you?_

_ Anyway, please write back. Say something to Kingsley as well, because even though he won't admit it, he misses having you around. Thom was glad to hear that you were alive as well, so you might throw him a few words too. He would be glad. Oh yeah, and is there anything you want me to try and send you? I can make Mum's fruitcake pretty good now. Or maybe some socks or something. I can send your threads and needles, so that you can repair anything. Just name it, and I'll try to send it to you._

_Well, come home soon. _

_ Love, _

_ Mavis_

Peter smiled as he folded up the letter, thinking of his lovely sister. He knew at heart that Louis was right; she could take care of herself. He could feel her resilient attitude through the letter, and could imagine her standing there in front of him with her hands on her hip—mirroring her mother perfectly—and telling him those exact words.

After thinking for a few minutes, he quickly took out a piece of paper and pencil from the Red Cross packages and began to write.

_Dear Mavis,_

_ Why do you always have to be so hard on me? Do you honestly think that I'm going to get myself killed? I'm not a simpleton like you might think. I'm glad to hear that ole Kingsley is being so good to you, and you let him know that as long as my job is still there, I'll be trying to get back to it. Just tell him that I expect back pay. He'll understand. I'm glad you found another job that pays well. Still, you let your boss know that I said you can't work late on weekdays. You have to be home by eight every night during school. As for Alfie, you can let him know that I've not forgotten anything he's said, but that this isn't Scotland Yard I'm trying to get out of. That's a fortress compared to this place. Don't worry, I'll be along soon enough. I'll drop some lines to Thom too, so don't worry about that._

_ Well, I know things have changed over there now, because we've learned of the Blitz. I don't know what the set up over there is, but whatever is, follow it to the letter. I'm sure I sound like a worrisome old wart, but I won't make it out of here if I learn you're dead. Be careful, and don't be heroic. Get yourself to safety first._

_ I know you can take care of yourself, and you just go right along getting that secondary school degree and get yourself a right good job. Don't let the war get in the way too much, because that's being resilient. When you can go on with your daily life, even with Jerry breathing down your neck, that's when you're showing them up. And I know you pet, you can give anyone a run for their money when you set your loaf to it. Make me proud. Well, I already am right proud of you. I don't believe that anyone has a greater sister. Even if you are younger, you sure know how to take care of everyone. _

_ And to put you at ease, I'm not alone here. I've the best group of mates any bloke could ask for. I was on the run with this short Frenchman, Louis LeBeau. Funny name innit? We got captured together too. At first we didn't care that much about each other, but now we're what I guess you could call best mates. Just don't tell him that. On the way to the camp, I met some other nice blokes as well. There was another Frenchman, Marcel D'Orléans. The camp is segregated, so the French don't bunk with us. Still, we're allowed to talk to them. On the British side of camp, I usually hang around these two other blokes who I met on the way here. There's Luke Fairnth, who though he's ruddy rich and from Manchester, he's an awfully nice kid. He's only eighteen, but he keeps me sane. And then there's Stephen McLean, a sheepherder from Scotland. He's got a family, which makes him seem wiser than any of us. He is like a father to us, always keeping an eye out for trouble. Well, we all like to think that we're watching out for one another. And in the barracks, I met another chap from East End. He's from Whitechapel. If you ever run across any folks with the name Blackwell, run the name Everley by them. We get along quite well, and it's nice having someone around who actually understands what I'm saying. _

_ Also, it's nice to have someone around who understands my fears from the Blitz. All us British are scared, but the guards haven't made it a secret that London is who being bombed every night so far. So, Mavis, please be safe. Write me as often as you can, because the more letters I get from you, the more comforted I'll be. I can't promise you letters often from me; paper is scarce, and only comes with Red Cross packages, which are a joke mostly._

_ Oh, and if you do want to send something to me, try the needle and thread. I can do a lot with them here. Another pair of socks would be nice, and if you really want to try and the fruitcake, go ahead. I doubt it'll make it here whole, but the food here isn't worthy of rats, and we don't even get that much. _

_Thanks for everything sis._

_ Love, _

_Peter_

***** ***** *****

The following day, the general mood in the camp was far better than it had ever been. The prisoners' spirits had risen with news from home. Work was not as hard that day, nor the next. Their own letters were sent off the same day as the next round of long awaited Red Cross packages arrived. The joke was still kept though; half the packages were missing because of guards, and some appeared to have been broken into. Still, something was better than naught.

Also, the arrival of the officers, and the organization of the ranks into something useful also raised spirits. No one could think of a better way to get back at the Krauts than to escape, or just create a general nuisance of themselves.

* * *

We will assume that Louis's letters were in French. (Obviously)


	20. The Great September of 1940

Okay, I'm really sorry about how long I took to post this next chapter. I had a bit of a writer's block, and then things got really busy around here. Schoolwork and soccer picked up, then we had the Saints in the playoffs, then the Superbowl (GEAUX SAINTS!), and then Mardi Gras, more soccer, and now I've finally gotten to sit down and finish this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: T****he**** G****reat**** S****eptember ****of**** 1940**

September flew by, and it was a great change for the prisoners. The monotonous routine of eating, working, and sleeping was now being broken by the activities of finding a way to escape. Actually, it was the officers that tried to come up with plans. The non-coms went about filching anything they thought could be handing. Luckily, the guards never thought to search them when they came back into camp. The loot was hidden throughout every barracks. After a month, a number of things had been abducted from the farms, in town, and even the guards would find something missing. But that was rare, because no one wanted to bring attention to themselves. Everyone got involved, making it go faster. There were now collections of candles, spoons, kitchen knives, skinny rope, some thick rope, matches, kerosene oil, light bulbs, and copper wire. A few lucky fellows managed to jack picks from a farm. They took the picks apart, and brought the pieces back to camp. So now, they were in possession of three picks; better than nothing.

Communication between the French and British side of camp was becoming more sophisticated as well. The officers agreed that it would be too suspicious of they were seen talking to one another, so messengers were involved. Friends like Peter and Louis, who always talked, would sometimes really be swapping messages from their C.O.s. The job was moved around, ensuring that no one would appear to look suspicious ever. Also, in keeping tally of everything collected in the camp, Private Torben Arcenau came up with an ingenious way of communicating the total from the French to the British and vice versa. They all ate in the same mess hall, so Torben began a tally of each item. Each table represented a certain item. When someone brought something into camp, they scraped a tally underneath the item's table, making it possible for everyone to know how many of each item, in total, the camp had acquired.

All of this activity was helping everyone cope with being trapped here day by day. There was more of a sense of unity as well. The prisoners began to trust more, and even if they didn't like someone, it was comforting to know that they weren't traitors, but that they just didn't get along.

The French were able to have a meeting. So that the entire camp was not there, one man from each barracks went. The French officers, _Commandant_ Géraud Beauvais and _Capitaine _Cyril Noël, took charge well in the camp. They were liked by the non-coms, making their job easier. The meeting took place in their barracks for a good hour during the night, and they were able to get some things done. First order of business was where to start a tunnel. All the barracks were raised about a foot-and-a-half off the ground. This meant that if there was a tunnel being built, there would have to be very careful planning on disguising it. Most of the French suggested that the tunnel be built directly behind the stairs, which would already throw a shadow over it while working at night. Also, they would keep movement around it at a minimum. No going in and out. Just once going in and once coming out. The officers agreed this was the most logical, but that it was still very risky. Despite keeping it somewhat hidden, everyone felt that it was still very exposed, which it was.

The second order of business was that the officers wanted prisoner to have roles in this. It would keep things organized, as well as hopefully get things going. Instead of having a bureaucratic sort of system going on, they wanted to be able to say something needed to be done, and then just have those people do it however they could. So, a list of jobs that needed to be taken care of was made, and for now the job was to find the people for the jobs and report back with them.

"_Corporel _LeBeau," said _Capitaine _Cyril. It was at the end of the meeting, which LeBeau had been lucky enough to attend. "I want you to relay this to your friend on the other side. Tell him to tell his own officers what we discussed."

"_Oui, Capitaine_," answered Louis.

"Were they ever able to have their own meeting," asked _Commandant_ Géraud.

"_Non, Commandant,_" answered Louis. "They planned to but someone was caught out of barracks. _Le Boche _never knew what was going on, fortunately, and just punished the one man. They were going to try again tomorrow night."

"Hopefully this will help them move along then," said Géraud. "Alright then, that's all for tonight. Go back to your barracks, and tomorrow start up on looking for men to take charge. _Bonne chance._"

The following day, during the rec period, Louis found Peter and gave him the information. Peter seemed please on how far they got.

"Doin' quiet a shot better than we are," he said. "Though I will say, we got pretty lucky yesterday. Luke found a radio in the warehouse with all the tools. It's in perfect condition."

Louis smiled. "Did 'e take it?"

"No," snapped Peter. "You think we were goin' to be able to sneak an entire radio—" He paused as a guard came too close. "—an' Mavis said she was meetin' a boy around the pub lately, but I told 'er she'd better watch out."

"Oh, _mon ami_," said Louis. "You are just being too protective. She is almost an adult, and I think she can date who she likes."

They both paused, watching the guard moving on.

"Anyway," said Peter. "It's too big to bring in. We're goin' to 'ave to take it apart, an' bring it in piece by piece."

"Right," said Louis. "I will let _le Commandant_ know."

"An' I'll let the Cap'n known about the tunnel problem," said Peter.

"So," said Louis. "'Ow is Mavis?"

They had just gotten another batch of letters yesterday.

"Fine," said Peter. "She told me that they've bombed London every night so far. She said it's a part o' the routine now. Instead o' goin' 'ome an' sleepin' in 'er bed, they go down into the subway, an' sleep there. But they're alive, an' that's wot matters. Still, a lot o' people are buyin' it. An' Jerry is goin' after other cities too." He sighed. "Never mind all that. 'Ow about your family? They weatherin' the storm all right?"

"_Oui_," said Louis, though Peter could tell something bothered him. "_Mon oncle_ 'ad to close 'is restaurant for two months, and that 'urt 'im and _ma famille_. But 'e is back in business, and _le Boche_ like 'is food, so 'e does not think they will shut 'im down. Kraut officers come all the time 'e says. 'E says it disgusts 'im that they come so much, but 'e deals with it anyway."

"And," said Peter, prompting him on.

"Well," said Louis. "They are taking away people."

"Wot d'you mean," asked Peter.

"I'm not really sure what it is all about," said Louis. "_Ma famille_ does not know either. But the Germans 'ave taken people out of Paris, and moved them away."

"Randomly," asked Peter.

"_Non_," replied Louis. "It does not seem random. It is Jews, Gypsies, and anyone who 'as a record of making statements against Germany."

"Well the last sort makes sense," said Peter. "But Jews? Gypsies? That doesn't make any sense at all. Leastways, not to me."

"Well," said Louis. "I told Marcel. 'E said that when 'e was in Germany, the Germans did not teat the Jews well. We all know about 'ow the Germans think of themselves as pure Aryans, and Marcel said that the Jews were supposed to be the worst compared to the Aryans. Marcel also said 'e 'eard rumors about what 'appened to Jews in Germany. They go to labor camps. And Gypsies too, an' the disabled, mentally and physically. But also anyone who might be considered a traitor."

"The unclean, you mean," said Peter. "Everyone the Aryan race shouldn't be mixed wif." Peter spat on the ground. "That's disgustin'! Still, at least they're alive. I mean, if they're in labor camp…that's wot this is, right?" He looked around their camp pointedly.

Louis shrugged. "I suppose. Still, it is sad. They are civilians. And my father wrote that they spare no one. Even children are taken away."

Peter watched Louis carefully. "You know someone who might've been taken?"

"_Oui_," said Louis. "One of my friends I know from Paris is _un Juif_. 'E did not enlist, because 'e was taking over 'is father's job in the city. 'E 'as a good family, and I feel bad for them now."

"I'm sure they'll make it," said Peter. "All they've got to do is outlast the war."

"Like us," said Louis.

"No, not exactly," replied Peter. "We've got other duties. We've got t'get out o' 'ere, and get back in the fight."

"Right," said Louis. He paused as a guard passed again. Then, he smiled. "Well go on now. Take the information to _le Capitaine_."

"Cheerio, mate."

And they parted from the fence. Peter sought out Captain Lawrence, and found him talking with Lt. O'Neill. When Peter approached, Lawrence beckoned him over with a wave of his hand.

"We saw you talking to Corporal LeBeau," he said.

"Yes, sir," replied Peter. He relayed Louis's information about the French meeting to them.

"Well," said O'Neill, once Peter was through. "That was definitely progress on their part, even if it's just a little."

"Beggin' your pardon, sirs," said Peter. "But 'ow about a suggestion?"

"Shoot," replied Lawrence.

"This whole tunnel thing is complex," said Peter. "But I've noticed that the only buildin's built not built off the ground are the infirmary, the recreation 'all, the mess, the Kommandant's buildin', an' the guards' barracks. Now, skippin' the last two for obvious reasons, why can't we start a tunnel from any o' those places?"

Lawrence and O'Neill looked at one another, and then O'Neill gave a skeptical look to Peter. "And just how do _you_ think we could? We don't live in those buildings, nor have much access to them to begin with."

"True," said Peter. "But doesn't that make it even better. Jerry's thinking' the same thing. They're always goin' over our barracks, but you never see them goin' over the mess or infirmary. An' blimey, we don't even get to use the recreation 'all; it's just there for show. So, if we could get somethin' started there, we would 'ave more chance for success."

"You still haven't answered the question on how we would even get there to begin with," said O'Neill curtly.

Peter glared at the smart tone, but before he could say anything Lawrence calmly put in his own words. "Now wait," he said. "There is something here. Now, the mess hall we could definitely say is out of the picture. There are always Krauts in the place to begin with. But the other two…we might be able to do something there."

"But, sir," said O'Neill. "How could we possibly do that? Like Corporal Newkirk said: we don't even get to go into the recreation hall."

"Well," said Lawrence. "I think I can fix _that_. I'll have a word with the Major."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Major Duerr?"

"There's only one Major, Corporal," said Lawrence. "Why? You sound nervous."

"Well, that chap makes me nervous," said Peter. "'E's the enemy, but 'e's too nice sometimes. That's not right in me 'ead, so it makes me nervous."

"Distrustful, you mean," said O'Neill pointedly.

"Wotever you want to call it," muttered Peter. "_Sir._"

"You two pipe down," said Lawrence. "Look, I'll go speak to Major Duerr, and you guys figure a way of how we could get into the infirmary."

"Wot? Wif 'im?"

"Sir, I can't work with—"

"That's an order," stated Lawrence firmly.

"Yes, sir," replied the Corporal and Lieutenant obediently. But when Lawrence turned his back and walked off, they just glared at one another. Once Lawrence was around the corner of the barracks, O'Neill turned the other way and walked off quickly.

"So where are you going," asked Peter hotly, as he followed O'Neill closely.

"Remember that I am your superior, Corporal," said O'Neill.

"Yes, sir," said Peter flatly. "Permission to speak, sir?"

"Go ahead," said O'Neill.

"'Ave you ever played sick, sir," inquired Peter.

O'Neill stopped short, and spun around on his heel, looking thoroughly annoyed. "What," he asked impatiently.

Peter smiled, as he stared eye-to-eye with O'Neill. "'Ave you ever played sick before?"

"Played sick," echoed O'Neill ardently. "What are you _playing _at?"

***** ***** *****

Lawrence stepped out of Major Duerr's office with an air of authority. The guards flanked him to escort him back inside the compound but as far as Lawrence cared, they could have been two lovely ladies. As they shut the gate behind him, he murmured contently, "Mission accomplished."

The talk with Major Duerr had started off slowly. He was hesitant and unsure about how to go about winning the recreation hall for the prisoners. However, after a few turns to make Duerr hopefully feel sympathetic towards the prisoners, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Winter was coming up, meaning less work for the prisoners on the farms. So, Duerr said that those prisoners would be brought back one hour earlier, and would receive an extra hour of recreation. He would also open the recreation hall, and allow the prisoner to do what they wished with it, as long as it did not bust the camp's budget. Lawrence could not have asked for anything better. They were in. And the best part about was that the prisoners for those two hours, would not be segregated any longer. Communication between the French and British would now be easier, and the pace on escaping would pick up.

Lawrence was now headed back to talk to O'Neill. He had no idea how he would find his second-in-command. He expected a sour looking Lt. that would be furious at Lawrence for leaving him with the brash, untamed Corporal. However, when Lawrence entered the barracks, he found O'Neill and Peter sitting at the table across from one another, bent over two pieces of paper that were put together to represent some sort of map. Lawrence shut the door behind him and slowly approached. Neither man had looked up when the senior officer had come in.

Then O'Neill's head shot up.

"Oh, hello sir," he said. "Was it a success?"

"Sure was," answered Lawrence cheerily. "But you know, it would be safer for you two to have some sort of sentries watching the barracks. You never know when Jerry might come in for a surprise."

"Oh, don't worry, sir," said Peter. 'I've some friends watchin'. They would've said somethin' if it wasn't you comin' in."

Lawrence nodded as he sat down beside O'Neill. "So, what in Earth do we have here?"

"A map, sir," said O'Neill. "Of the recreation hall and infirmary. Corporal Newkirk had a glorious idea of how to get into the infirmary. Very elementary. And I only wish I would've thought of it and taken the credit."

"Well," asked Lawrence, looking to Peter.

"It's quite simple, sir," said Peter. "We fake sickness. The way I see it, if we can get in a few people here and there every now and then, actin' like they're sick, they can be workin' on the tunnel durin' the night. The medics are our own people; maybe even they could do some o' the work when we can't get anyone in there. Jerry will never know the difference. People get sick; it's natural. And around this time o' year, wif the cold an' all, even more people will tend to get sick."

"Let's just 'ope we don't get a real illness," muttered Lawrence.

"Sir?"

"Of lead poisoning," emphasized Lawrence.

O'Neill paused in his drawing on the map. "You don't like the idea, sir?"

Lawrence paused and looked at both of them. "Like you said, Lieutenant: I wish I had thought of it. Let's get cracking chaps. This is going to take some work."

* * *

Okay, since it's been awhile, and we have quite a lot of characters involved now, I'll give you a list of everyone in case you're having trouble keeping them straight.

1) Corporals Peter Newkirk & Louis LeBeau: hopefully you know who they are

2) Private Luke Fairnth, _Caporal-chef _Marcel D'Orléans, Sergeant Stephen MacLean: friends of Peter and Louis; met on the march

3) Captain James Lawrence & Lieutenant William O'Neill: British officers

4) _Commandant_ Géraud Beauvais & _Capitaine _Cyril Noël: French officers

5) Private Dean Matthews, Corporal Everley Blackwell, & Private Torben Arcenau: other close friends of Peter and Louis; met in the camp

6) Major Duerr: disciplinarian of the camp; acts mostly for the Kommandant

7) Kommandant: obviously in charge of camp; only seen once; a mystery

8) Sergeant Berg: the Sergeant-of-the Guard

9) Jakowitz: the owner of the farm that Peter works on

10) Symanski: the owner of the restaurant Louis works at

11) Sergeant Timon Lloyd: man who picked a fight with Peter and Everley

12) _Sturmbannführer_: SS officer in charge of Polish camp not far from Stalag XXXA

13) _Hauptmann_ Roche Haussler: Wehrmacht officer who was in charge of bringing the prisoners to the camp

**Note: Just because they're down the list doesn't mean they won't become significant later. ;)**


	21. The Proposition

**Chapter Twenty-One: T****he**** P****roposition**

Peter could not have made a better call for the infirmary. The best actors of the camp, Peter included, were called upon. And boy did they give an act. As the cold weather arrived, more prisoners found themselves in the infirmary with some illness or another. The medics would always say 'a touch of the flu', or a 'bad cold' that may get worst without proper rest. It was never too many men, and no one stayed sick for more than a few days. It was just a rotation of men, who worked through the day, and sometimes night, starting on the tunnel. Guards checked in on the infirmary guests, but the times were routine, so there were no surprises. A tunnel was started on October 4th. It would go forty yards before it came to the fence, and another fifty or so before reaching the woods. The woods were thick, and everyone was optimistic that if the escape went off without a hitch, one could go missing for a good amount of time. Beyond that no one had thought about. It was, for now, sufficient enough to think about just getting out of the camp.

So, while slow but sure progress was being made in the infirmary, work in the recreation hall began. It was bare, and so the prisoners began working on a stage setting. Major Duerr approved the act, though there was constant watch n their every move. Surprisingly, Duerr supplied them with wood and tools to get the job done. _Commandant _Beauvais and Captain Lawrence explained to Duerr that having a recreation hall gave the prisoners more things to do, thus keeping their minds of the dull life they led there in the camp. It would prevent them for going 'wire-happy', they explained. This satisfied Duerr. The stage was built in a week, with many prisoners willing. After that, they set about trying to furnish the rest of the hall.

A week after the tunnel from the infirmary, they ran into a bit of trouble. So far, there had been a minimal amount of dirt to get rid of while they went straight down. They had been tossing it in the latrine in small amounts at a time. That was sufficient, but more needed to be done. This created a lull in the tunnel business. But finally, after three days, a solution came from Lieutenant O'Neill.

"Let's toss it underneath other barracks," he told Lawrence. "We'll cut out places in the floor of all the barracks, and bring the dirt there. Jerry never goes under there, or really inspects the place. They'll never know, as long as we do it inconspicuously."

It was done. Dirt was kept in containers in the infirmary. For the two hours that the prisoners had free run inside most of the camp, prisoners came and took the containers, hiding them in their jackets, and then went about disposing of them in the latrine and beneath the barracks.

The recreation hall was closer to fence by ten yards. And on the October 15th, work began on a tunnel there. It was then that plans were begun to actually pull off a great escape. While the non-coms toiled night in day in tunnels, disposing of dirt, doing their normal work in the day, and while Luke and Everley worked on bringing the radio into camp, the four officers met every day in the recreation hall, behind the stage, to discuss an escape that would get at least some men home.

They agreed that the more prisoners who got out, the more who would make it home. The more prisoners who escape, the more havoc it created for the Third Reich. And that was one goal they had to achieve. The main problem was that the camp was deep in enemy territory on all sides. If they wanted to reach England, it would require going through Germany and then France. Going to Switzerland meant going through occupied Czechoslovakia, Austria, and maybe Germany again. And going east to Russia meant a lot of occupied territory, and eventually the front lines of battle. The least hostile and shortest journey one could try and make was to go north to the Baltic Sea. And if you could cross that, you could reach neutral Sweden or Finland. Still, it meant making your way through occupied territory, but nowhere near as much as the other wishful routes.

As October went by, the cold air came as well. The prisoners quickly realized that what they had was not enough. About half-way through the month, the Red Cross sent more blankets. But the men who worked outside turned them into another coat of sorts, or tore some of it up to make gloves, or another pair of socks. Letters went out to their families asking for any warm clothing. Peter became busy once his barracks-mates realized he could sew. Mavis had sent him some needle and thread, and he traded cigarettes for more thread with the guards. He was soon turning blankets into another layer for everyone in his barracks. He was not the only one. Louis found himself plagued as well with a sudden onslaught of requests. However, they were both happy to do so to help their comrades.

As October came to an end, the reports on the tunnels were uplifting. In a month, they were a little more than a third of the way there in the tunnel from the infirmary, and half-way there in the tunnel from the recreation hall. On the first of November, the officers met once more to discuss more details of the escape.

"We must disguise it," said Géraud. "We must make sure that the Germans will not find out until much later."

"Where do we think we will get to escape from first," asked Lawrence.

"The rec hall, sir," answered O'Neill. "The progress there is faster, and the distance shorter anyway."

"How many men do we think we are going to get to escape," asked Noël.

"As many as we can fit in a time frame," answered O'Neill. "I don't think we should limit it to anything specific. If we can create a long timeframe for men to get out, then we push as far as we can. The more men out, the better."

"The more havoc we create," said Lawrence.

"Or the more men that get killed," commented Noël. "What about that?"

"It will be their risk," replied Géraud. "When they are picked, it will be their choice. Though I believe that if anyone is picked, they will take the chance. Freedom is just too good to pass up."

"Yes, sir," said Noël. "Still, 'ow will we get so many men out at once, and then give them time to at least get away from the camp?"

"The rec hall will have to be in use," said Lawrence. "That way, there will be commotion. Men can be coming in and out too much for Jerry to keep a count or something."

"But at night," asked Géraud. "'Ow will we ever 'ave something be done there at night?"

"We'll need a ruddy good reason," pointed out O'Neill.

Noël looked around the hall thoughtfully. There was now a ping-pong table with a ball that didn't really ping, a few tables where men played cards, a corner for some boxing, the stage…the stage!"

"We can put on a play," said Noël suddenly.

"A play," echoed Géraud. "My, that's a good idea. But like O'Neill said, we'll need a good enough reason to have a play."

There was suddenly a scuffle around the curtains, and Louis and Peter stumbled out.

"Let's 'ave a Christmas play," suggested Louis eagerly.

"No," said Peter, giving Louis a frown. "A talent show!"

The four officers looked quizzically at the two corporals.

"Do you two, by any chance, know what the meaning of private meeting is," asked Géraud.

"It was 'is idea," said Louis quickly, pointing at Peter.

"Was not."

"Is too."

"Okay, okay," said Lawrence quickly, breaking up the bickering before it started a third war. "Just next time give us a warning you're going to burst out from behind the curtains. I thought you were Jerry listening in."

"Don't worry, sir," said Peter. "We always make sure you won't be disturbed in these little meetin's."

"What about now," asked O'Neill.

"Everley's got it," assured Peter. He smiled as Everley poked his head out from behind the curtains and gave a quick grin. He quickly ducked back.

"So," said Géraud. "A Christmas play. It might 'ave merit. Even Germans celebrate Christmas."

"Wot about a talent show," asked Peter.

"_Fermez la bouche_,_" _said Louis. "We all know you would not win anyway."

"Will you two stop it," said Lawrence. "Look, regardless of what we do, something like that would buy us plenty of time to get plenty of men out…as long as everyone got away without a hitch."

"So," said Peter. "We doin' it?"

The officers shot their men slightly annoyed looks.

"We have to talk to Major Duerr first," said Lawrence. "And not a word about this to anyone. Not until we know for certain what is going to happen. If something got around, guards might hear and wonder. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," answered Louis and Peter simultaneously.

"Understood, Corporal Blackwell," asked Lawrence more loudly.

There was a muffled "Yes, sir" from behind the curtains in response.

_"Bon_," said Géraud. "_Capitaine_."

"Yes, sir," said Lawrence. He followed Géraud out from behind the stage and of to talk to Duerr.

O'Neill and Noël looked at Peter and Louis with bemused grins.

"Can't you ever keep your nose out of anything," asked O'Neill.

"Oi," said Peter. "So far, everything I've ever stuck my nose into 'as only got better."

They all just rolled their eyes at that.

***** ***** ****

"A Christmas play?"

"_Oui_, Major," replied Géraud. "Something to keep the men more preoccupied and to keep their morale up. The days are getting colder and longer anyway, meaning there is less work to be done on the farms. More men will just be lying around 'ere, doing very little and getting very bored. That would only lead to some sort of trouble."

"How do I know there will not be trouble in this," asked Duerr, giving both Géraud and Lawrence scrutinizing stares.

"On Christmas, Major," asked Lawrence. "Not likely. Besides, this will be something the men will want to be a part of. Like we said, the more you keep them preoccupied the less likely there will be thoughts of creating trouble."

"We could always find more work inside the camp," offered Duerr. "Trust me, the camp down the road knows how to do that very well."

"Sir," asked Géraud. "We know of no other camp."

"Disregard the comment then," said Duerr. "It is not a matter of security. My mind was just wandering." He stood up. "I will talk with the Kommandant, and let you know tomorrow what we have decided. You are dismissed."

Lawrence and Géraud saluted, which Duerr returned, and then they left the building with Berg following closely. Once they were back in the compound and out of earshot from other guards, Lawrence turned to Géraud.

"Did that strike you as odd, or was it just me," he asked.

"I really did not know of any camp nearby," said Géraud. "Did you?"

"No, sir," answered Lawrence. "Which has me worried. We don't really know what lies elsewhere. We could have men going straight at that camp. But it's odd, I though with working we pretty much knew this area."

"I thought the same," said Géraud. "But, I suppose we were wrong."

"So," said Lawrence. "How do we guarantee that we find no surprises out there?"

"We need a map," said Géraud. "We need someone to get us a map."

"I've seen maps in Duerr's office," said Lawrence. "But it would be suicide trying to get in there. That's a fence and quite a few guards to get through."

"_Oui_," said Géraud. "I have an idea, but I am unsure about 'ow we will pull it off."

"Anything is better than nothing," countered Lawrence. "Might as well have a go."

"What if we planned a small escape for a few men to get out and 'ave a look around the area," said Géraud. "They could scout it out, and when they get recaptured, report to us what they found."

Lawrence's eyes were wide. "You will need some brave souls for that venture. And someone clever enough to pull it off. Someone who will need to be able to hide out for a few days and still be gathering information. _And_ someone willing to escape, and then come back."

"I 'ad a man figured out until you mentioned that last part," said Géraud.

"Sir," said Lawrence. "That last part will cancel almost anyone out."

"I suppose so," said Géraud.

"Well, who did you have in mind anyway," asked Lawrence. "If it's a reasonable character, maybe we could persuade them. Bribe them. First spot out or something."

"I was thinking of your English corporal that we sent messages through," said Géraud. "And his French friend of course. They work well together, and Corporal LeBeau told me their story about their capture. They survived a long time dodging Germans in the countryside. I believe they could do it again for a few days, and gather the information we need."

Lawrence frowned. "I said reasonable character. Corporal Newkirk is not the most reasonable character. For all his participation in this, he might not be cooperative in that sense. He wants out. I know a lot of men here do, but I think he has less patience. And sending a Frenchman with him? Your country is occupied sir. What if they both clear out and don't come back?"

"It's a possibility that I recognize," replied Géraud. "If it 'appens, we will find another way. But I think we can trust these two. Because for all they might want out, I do not believe they will give up a chance to 'elp their comrades master this escape."

Lawrence sighed. "It's your call sir."

Géraud checked his watch. "Come. There is about thirty minutes left in the rec hour. We can propose the idea to them now."

They walked back to the stage. The men who had been working underground were coming up now, giving themselves plenty of time to look respectable for when the Germans would see them at the end of recreation. Géraud and Lawrence watched as Peter and Louis closed up the tunnel. When they were finished, the two officers sent everyone our, holding the two corporals back.

Lawrence looked to O'Neill and Noël. "No one is to disturb us this time. If you hear anything, forget about it for now."

"Yes, sir," they replied. They left the area to keep watch.

Meanwhile, Peter and Louis were wondering what was going on. They had an uneasy feeling about being left with the officers on purpose. Not to mention, they looked very serious and thoughtful. When everyone was gone, Géraud and Lawrence looked to them.

"We 'ave a mission for you two," said Géraud. "It is an important one, but completely voluntary. We 'ave discovered that there is another camp nearby. This made us realize we do not know everything about the area, or what lies beyond. Your job, if you accept, will be to find a way out of 'ere, and to scout as much of the area as you can before getting recaptured. When you can, you will report back what you found, so that we can identify any obstacles for the escape."

Peter and Louis exchanged a glance.

"You mean," said Louis cautiously. "You want us to escape, and then get recaptured _on purpose_?"

"Yes," said Lawrence, slowly. "That's the idea."

Peter looked doubtful, and Louis contemplated the matter suspiciously.

"But in return," said Géraud. "You two will be the first out of the camp for the escape."

This did not appear to affect Peter or Louis's look of questioning.

Finally, Peter sighed. "You promise, that if we just attempt this, we get first out?"

Géraud and Lawrence looked at one another and the French officer nodded.

"We promise," he said. "Just the attempt means you get first out."

"Okay," said Louis. "I will do it."

He looked at Peter.

Peter nodded determinedly. "Me too. You've got yourself a deal."


	22. Gone

**Chapter Twenty-Two: G****one**

"You could be shot. What if someone else besides Duerr captures you? What if the SS recaptures you? Hmm? What then? That SS officer who first found you wanted to shoot you. And you hadn't even done anything. I don't like this. I don't like it one bit. Get someone else to go. You do enough here. You should get first out just because you've bust your arse night and day in this mission as it is. I hardly thick in it cricket to go an try to get lead poisoning too."

Peter sighed, stopped shoveling, and turned around to face Luke with an exasperated look. "Will you give it a rest? You've been at me for five days now. _Five days._ If I'm not gonna budge now, why do you even bother?"

Luke walked up to Peter. "Because the more I talk, the more I hope you'll reconsider this whole deal."

Peter rolled his eyes and went back to shoveling snow out of Jakowitz's pigpen. The first snow had come, and the pigs had lost their mud. Luke and Peter were secluded for now, behind the house and barn, so Luke had been blabbering away to try and convince Peter not to take on the very risky mission he was about to endeavor on. He had only told Luke and Stephen, trusting them. Louis had told Marcel, and outside of their close-knit group, only the officers knew. Stephen and Marcel were worried, but had only offered encouragement and small advisories every now and then. Sometimes, they would think of something, and just mention it. Peter and Louis were grateful for that.

Luke, however, was less than optimistic. He was worried sick, convinced this was a suicide mission. Peter was putting up with it, solely because he had already decided that he _was_ going to do this.

"Luke," said Peter, cutting Luke off once again. "To be truthful, I thought you would be the most encouraging one."

Luke paused. "I do want you to do well. I hope it all works out. But…I just want you to come back."

Peter turned around quickly. "You think I'd clear out for good?"

Luke gave him an uneasy and guilty look. "Nothing against you, it's just…freedom…a chance to see home again without waiting for the cavalry to arrive…it sounds so good. And if you were to escape, why would you come back? I mean, I know why you are, and you're a brave, noble, and foolish chap for it. But, I don't even know if _I _would come back."

Peter just smiled. "Oh, don't worry. I considered it. Sometimes I still consider it. But I don't know where I'm goin' anyway. My plan is to just get as much information as I can before I starve."

"Then what," snapped Luke.

"'Opefully get captured by some Kraut who isn't trigger-'appy," replied Peter.

"Well," began Luke.

Peter sighed, knowing Luke was about to go off again.

And he did. "Just remember that there might be Polish people out there who aren't exactly on our side. Or they might just turn you in for their own sakes. And remember that we're pretty much out in the middle of nowhere. Food could get scarce fast. Not to mention—" he paused as it began to snow. "—the weather might get worse. Personally, I'd rather be recaptured without any information, than be frozen to death. And…"

Peter looked over his shoulder to Luke. The younger man had his back to him, and was hard at work as he rambled on. Peter gave a little smile. He gently laid down his shovel, and quickly looked around. There were no guards in sight. Quickly, he jumped the fence of the pigpen, and hurried around the barn to the side that faced the woods. There was about a forty yard field between the barn and the woods. Peter quickly looked around, and then in a dead sprint, ran to them. He ducked between the rungs of the fence, and crawled into the cover of the trees and forest brush. He squatted next to a tree and looked back. Nothing seemed amiss. No one—not even Luke—had seen him go. He was not missed yet. So, without another glance, he turned and ran for it.

***** ***** *****

A few minutes later, Luke stopped shoveling--but not talking. He paused in his rambling and gave a frustrated sigh.

"You know, this is so pointless," he said. "It will just continue to snow while we keep trying to dig it up. It's just going to continue you on like this. These bloody pigs can just roll around in the snow. We can have sausage icicles instead."

One of the pigs looked up and grunted. Luke sneered at him.

"I don't want to hear you complain," he said. "If you have to complain, talk to him." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where Peter would have been working. He looked back, and froze seeing no one. Just Peter's shovel.

"Peter?"

There was, of course, no answer. Luke quickly looked around.

"Well, you wouldn't be a thief if you weren't sneaky." He paused. "Good luck," he whispered.

***** ***** *****

Lawrence lazily leaned against the wall of one of the barracks beside the compound. The work details would be returning soon, and the rec period would begin. Officers were never sent outside with the work details. Since they were not supposed to work, Duerr never sent them anywhere. They were then subjected to the extreme boredom that the camp held. During the day, there were about 200 men left in the camp, counting both nationalities. Sometimes they wondered if they would have rather been picked for work than to just sit around all day, waiting for the next one.

Suddenly, a work detail came into view on the road. Lawrence straightened up in confusion as he easily noticed the pace at which the detail was coming. It looked like the guards had the prisoners double-timing. Lawrence assumed this was for punishment. He couldn't help but smile, even though he felt bad towards his men. He knew that lately, one of the work details had been acting up. Perhaps they had finally stepped over the edge.

Lawrence strolled out into the compound as Sergeant Berg marched the prisoners inside the camp. He lined them up at the gate that led to the administrative buildings. Then, Berg yanked Private Fairnth out of line, and started walking towards the gate.

"Hey," cried Lawrence, as he quickly walked over. He paused when two guards raised their guns. "Sergeant, what are you doing with my man?"

Berg glared at Lawrence. "Zere vas a escape. Zis man—" he shook Luke "—vas viz ze man zat escaped."

Lawrence looked at Luke, who had an uneasy look on his face. "So what are you going to do with him? He didn't do anything wrong."

"I am bringing him to Major Duerr, so zat he can be questioned," said Berg.

"Well then I am coming with you," said Lawrence. "I have to be present for all interrogations of enlisted men."

Luke looked up at berg and smiled triumphantly.

"Then come if you wish," said Berg. He angrily shouted for the guards to open the gate. Lawrence closely followed Berg and Luke inside the office. Duerr looked up from his desk, and frowned.

"What is going on here," he demanded.

"_Herr Major_, _ein Engländer_ escaped," reported Berg. For his part, he did not look overly worried.

Duerr stood up quickly. "Who?" It was the only time Lawrence had seen Duerr's cool expression falter.

Berg sighed wearily. "Corporal Newkirk, _Herr Major_."

"Newkirk," repeated Duerr. "The _schwein_ I saved?"

"_Jawohl, Herr Major,_" answered Berg, this time more uneasily.

Duerr frowned. "And what does this Private have to do with it?"

"He vas vorking viz ze Corporal," replied Berg. "I zought he must know something."

"Well," asked Duerr, scrutinizing Luke.

"Honestly, sir," stammered Luke. "I don't know anything. Before we were called back, Peter said he was going to go relieve himself. Right after he left, a guard came to get us. We waited, but Peter never came back."

Duerr looked at Luke for a moment. "Sergeant, take the Private to the cooler. I do not believe he is telling the truth."

"Major," interrupted Lawrence. "You cannot--"

"I can do what I wish," stated Duerr. His tone was so deadly, the temperature seemed to drop. Duerr looked back at Berg. "After that, go search Corporal Newkirk's barracks. Whether you find anything or not, continue to search all the barracks. Keep all the prisoners in the compound in formation until you are done. I will take care of trying to find Corporal Newkirk."

"_Jawohl Herr Major_," said Berg. _"Kommen Sie_."

Luke was pulled out of the office, and threw a helpless look to Lawrence. Lawrence looked back to Duerr, but Duerr's eyes were already on him. And they held no room for compromise. Lawrence left the office quickly, letting the guards take him out into the compound for a long wait. The reaction of Duerr was worrisome. What if they found something?

However, what made Lawrence half-smile as he was stuck in formation, was that at least Peter Newkirk had escaped. Now, they would just wait and see how long he managed to stay away.

***** ***** *****

Back in the little town of Bielski, there was no news of any escape yet. Louis was coming to the end of his chores, and his heart was pounding in his chest. It was almost time for him to make the slip he had been planning for days. He and peter had decided that it was best that they escape on the same day. They assumed that is someone escaped, security would be heightened, making it harder for the next person to get out. Naturally, it would be harder to escape from the town than from the farm. But Louis had finalized his plans and now all he had to do was pull it off.

At first, he had thought about talking to Karol Symanski, the chef he worked for. He thought that perhaps the Pole would help him. But after consulting with Peter, who had had the same idea to involve Jakowitz, they decided no. It would be a risk to the Poles and their family. And ultimately, the less people who knew about the plans, the better. In a word of passing, there could be a leak they could not afford. Louis only hoped that if--_no, when_--he escaped, that Symanski was not blamed for anything.

Finally, the time came. The guard who usually stood outside the kitchen left at 0300. He did this everyday to make his rounds down the street. After he was done, he would begin rounding up the prisoners to be marched back to camp. Also, at this time of day, there was the least amount of people out on the streets. And now that it had begun to snow once more, even less people would venture out. Louis watched the guard walk off. Then, taking a garbage bag to have an excuse to go out, Louis left the kitchen. Karol, Janina, and Mikolaj did not even look up. They were so used to having him around and doing his chores perfectly.

Outside, the cold bit his face. But he was more warm than usual, because today he had layered on everything he had. He and Peter had been furiously sewing themselves some more clothes to wear under their uniforms. Louis walked down the alley of the back of the shops, and peeked around the corner. There was no one in sight on the street. Louis threw on his jacket that had no military insignia on it, and pulled his hat low. Sticking his hands in his pocket, he tried to look like a casual citizen hurry somewhere to get out of the weather. As he walked, he wrapped a scarf around his neck.

As Louis walked down the street, his hair on the back of his neck was standing up. His instincts screamed for him to get cover. He kept waiting for a shout, or a shot…something that announced that he had been spotted as an enemy soldier. But there was nothing. He did not look anywhere but ahead. He passed the shops, praying that anyone looking outside did not wonder about him. Suddenly, he heard the jingle of a bell, and voices. Someone was coming out of the shop in front of him. At first, he froze, his mind locked in fear. Then, he quickly side-stepped off the sidewalk and into the doorway of a carpenter's shop. He pretended to be looking into the windows at the clocks and frames on display. He nearly buckled when he heard the unmistakable sound of Wehrmacht boots. But he forced himself to stay in one place. The boots went by him, never slowing. Louis's heart was now in his throat. He saw the reflection of the guard go by in the window. Once he passed, Louis risked a glance to watch the guard go down the street. He passed up the alley. Louis breathed a sigh of relief. That meant that the guard would not miss him yet.

With that little bit of satisfaction, Louis turned and walked down the street quickly. He walked around another corner, coming across his next step. He had always noticed the bike that was rested against the wall beside the library. It was chained to a pipe, but Louis pulled out a wire-clipper someone at a farm had nicked. He quickly glanced around, and then snapped the chain. He was startled by the clink of metal on metal, but took a deep breath to steady himself. Then, he hopped on the bike, and started riding down the road, away from the town. He crossed the tracks, and then took a left. Normally, he took a right when leaving town, for that led towards camp. But now, he was headed north to see what obstacles lay before them on a venture for escape.

***** ***** *****

Duerr hurried back into his office upon hearing the phone ring. He picked it up.

"Hello?"

"_Herr Major, there has been an escape."_

"What? Who is this?"

_"It is Sergeant Jungen, sir, from town."_

"You mean there is another escape?"

_"Another? No, sir, there has only been one…I think. Yes, sir, only one from the town."_

"Bring the prisoners back here immediately."

_"Yes, sir."_

"Wait. Who was it that escaped?"

_"Uhh…Corporal Louis LeBeau, of the French Army." A pause. "Major, are you there?"_

"Yes, just return immediately."

_"Yes, sir. We are coming."_

Duerr hung up the phone slowly. He looked out the windows where more prisoners were being lined up for inspection as they came back from work. He saw the officers in front, and he frowned. He could not figure it out. There had been organization amongst the men when the officers arrived. This was to be expected. What was also expected was an attempt to escape. It was more likely also to happen now that officers had come to lead their men. He knew they were up to something ever since they argued for more recreation time. But his guards each night worked tirelessly over the camp, looking over every inch for signs of escape. They had found nothing. So, either these prisoners were very good at disguising their work, or there really was nothing going on.

Now these escapes had come. And they made sense. Duerr found comfort in that, because it meant he could predict their next move. These corporals knew each other, had showed resilience to their captors, and had also shown their ability to work with one another. Duerr realized they must have planned this escape.

Duerr only hoped that they did not make a mistake. Oh, he did want to catch them and they would be punished. But he only hoped they did not make the unfortunate mistake of crossing trails with the SS. He had hoped, that when he dropped the clue to the British and French officers a few days before, that the caught it. That they realized there was something else out there, so that if they attempted something, they were wary of something that made even Duerr sick and his skin crawl.

That was why, all along, Duerr and his commanding officer, the Kommandant, had applied for this position. They had seen many things; dishonorable things that as officers and gentlemen, they could hardly stand. They had hoped, with this position, to keep others out of the horror.

Of course, Duerr did not realize that the officers had taken the clue, and had actually set out to remedy it with their adventurous corporals. And little did any of the prisoners know what horror really lay out there.


	23. Not As Planned

**Chapter Twenty-Three: N****ot**** A****s**** P****lanned**

When Peter and Louis planned their escape, they had made the tough decision not to meet up with one another when they were outside the wire. With undoubtedly only a couple of days to gather information, they agreed that by splitting up, there was a better chance to gain more ground. They were already a good five miles away from each other. Peter was east of town, so Louis planned heading in a more western direction. They were both going north, though.

Louis managed to ride his bike up the road about a mile. He went by two farms, but after it was wilderness. The precious farm land of the valley dissipated, and the rest became hilly forests. Louis abandoned the bike when the road was constantly uphill. He left the road and went to trek through the woods. It was quiet. It was peaceful. There was wildlife; something Louis had never thought about before. He noticed squirrels, birds, a fox, and even a stealthy weasel. It was a comfort to see something so constant, yet pure, as nature. Dusk fell into darkness quickly. Louis found a cozy little space between two logs that had fallen downhill. He even pulled some braches over the two logs to give him cover, should it snow again. He pulled out a piece of bread he had kept for the occasion. There was also a canteen hidden in his jacket. He took that out and sipped some water. He was being careful with his provisions, though. He had three more pieces of bread, but the main matter was water. He thought that with what he had the most he could was three days. If he managed that long without being captured, he would hopefully get some good information. So far, he had just a lot of peaceful wilderness to report on.

Going back was becoming less and less popular with him each moment. Even though he was a little cold, he was finally out on his own again, and free. Still, he remembered that Peter was out there, doing his mission as well. Louis could not let himself down by letting Peter down.

And if Peter really escaped?

Louis had thought about it. Louis hated being a prisoner of war, so he knew Peter did. He also knew Peter had a different way of looking at prisons. He knew Peter had a different way of looking at honor and duty. He trusted Peter, but wondered that if times got tough or tempting enough, would Peter throw out duty to others and then focus solely on himself? Would he save his own skin given the chance, or would he stay and help his comrades?

Louis was troubled, but exhausted. The battle in his mind was just as tiring as his escape. So, he closed his eyes, and let sleep take him. At least, for now, he was free.

***** ***** *****

Peter had set off at a dead run, his adrenaline pumping at his breath of freedom. He may have still been in enemy territory, but this chance to just _run_…it was so exhilarating and satisfying. He had been yearning for it for so long. There was no barbed wire closing in on him the further he ran, no guards lurking with their rifles, and no towers looming with searchlights. It was just him.

After a few minutes, Peter slowed down, and then collapsed into the brush with a lazy smile on his face. He lay there for a few minutes, looking up at the sky through the thick boughs of the trees. He could hear nothing but his own pounding heart. He felt like he had not run so hard in years. He let a small chuckle bubble from his chest. _Freedom_. It was so bliss. His soul was nearly crying with joy, and for a time, he forgot his mission.

But only for a time.

How could he go back? How could he dare return to such a life? He could just forget the whole thing. He could just keep going. He could make it to the coast…Sweden…home. Home. It was the one place where his heart and soul was begging to return

But the mission. He had a duty, didn't he?

_A duty to escape. The duty of every prisoner of war is to try and escape to rejoin the fight._

And his duty to others, though? Did he not have a duty to help his fellow inmates get home as well? And what about his duty to his good friend Louis? Could he really abandon that?

_Of course you can. Just don't look back._

But Peter knew it would always be there. He would always regret something like this. Even though his heart yearned for home, he knew that part of his heart would be left here if he never finished this job somehow. Peter trusted Louis as well. Louis would be out there, doing his duty. Louis would be out there, trusting Peter to do his as well. And Peter could not let Louis down. That was unquestionable. That was something Peter's heart would not withstand. He never had, and he never would, betray a friend.

So, he pulled himself up, and steadied himself. He gathered his bearings, and looked northeast. That was his course. Behind him, work was expected to go on for another three hours. If everything went well, Peter figured that he could cover quite a lot of ground in that time. Then, he would pick somewhere to hide himself for the night. He wanted a good night's sleep, and he wanted to wake up on his own terms.

***** ***** *****

Louis would have liked to have woken up on his own terms to. But that was not the case. He was jolted awake by a commotion. He sat up straight, and for a moment, he thought he was back in France. He thought he was back in the field, hunkering down from advancing Germans.

He instinctively ducked when he heard the whizzing of bullets around him. He heard people shouting. He heard German, and some other language. That was when Louis remembered where he was.

_ Poland. Stalag XXXA. Escape. Mission._

Louis suddenly panicked. Had they already found him?

No, they had not, because the bullets were not being aimed at him. He stayed lying down on his stomach between the two logs, just listening to everything. He heard shots and shouts, people running, dogs barking. There was another, sudden staccato of machine-gun fire, and someone cried out. Dogs began barking and Louis could hear them running by through the brush. There was more fire and another cry. A dog started barking ferociously. Louis froze when he heard someone stop just on the other side of the log. It was a German, giving orders. Louis prayed it was too dark for him to see. The German walked on, and Louis breathed a sigh of relief.

But there was still a lot of action. Dogs were growling, and now the only voices heard were German. They started giving orders again. Louis understood the more standard stuff now.

_Get up! _

_Hands up!_

_Come here!_

_On your knees!_

_Walk forward! _

_Hands on your head!_

It was now all very understandable when you heard most of it day after day. He listened to the Germans give these orders twice. So they had captured two people? But who? Why were they being chased? Were they other prisoners? Louis was curious about all of this, but did not want to risk finding out. So he continued to lay still.

The Germans moved on, back where they had come from. It was up the hill. Louis gave thanks to God that he now knew not to go in that direction. He wondered how close he was to a German outpost. Once it got quiet again, Louis slowly rolled over onto his back. Now in a more comfortable position, he planned his next day. He realized that it would be some time before he got back to sleep. His heart was still pounding. It was not hard to keep himself busy though. He thought about where he should go next, and then after coming up with a plan, he went to thinking about more pleasant things.

Louis tried to recall the taste of home cooked meals; mostly warm, fresh bread. He closed his eyes and envisioned his family's farm, and his little hometown. He could see Paris, as well. He could see himself cooking in his uncle's kitchen. Louis opened his eyes and the first thing he saw were the stars. With a smile, he remembered many nights when he and Jean would sleep outside in the summer. They would camp out in the country side on weekends when they had no work.

But, that was a lifetime ago. Everything was changed.

Louis closed his eyes again. His mind was calming now, as he thought of home and peaceful times. He could feel himself drifting off.

Then, he jolted awake again. There was something or someone still out there. Louis listened intently.

Sniffing?

Louis's heart dropped to his stomach. There was a dog nearby. That meant the Germans were still abroad in the forest, and probably nearby. Louis prayed that the dog did not catch his scent.

_Please, Lord. Please don't let him find me. Just let him pass me up. Let him catch someone else's smell. Please, Lord. Please. They can't find me. They just can't._

The sniffing stopped. Louis opened his eyes. The unmistakable silhouette of a German Shepherd stood over him. The dog was looking straight at him. Louis remained still. Perhaps the dg did not see him at all.

Then, the dog turned his head to the sky and howled.

The night would not be peaceful for Louis anymore.

***** ***** *****

Major Duerr picked up the phone for what seemed the hundredth time that night. He had been working through the afternoon and night. He had planned on being out of the camp, personally searching for his missing prisoners, but his Kommandant had insisted going out instead. Duerr was left with orders to communicate between everyone. A regiment of Wehrmacht soldiers had been sent down from the Oflag camp that was twenty miles west of Stalag XXXA. Duerr was confident that he would have the prisoners back within the next day. They were outnumbered, surrounded, and most likely had little provisions and no clue where they were headed. Duerr even thought that they might give up if they became too desperate for food or water. And there was the weather as well. It had begun to snow again, and Duerr knew that if anything could drive a man mad, it was weather.

So, Duerr was really in no worry over the escapees.

But when he heard the voice on the other line, he remembered he did have reason to be worried.

"Is this Major Duerr I have the pleasure in speaking to?"

Duerr's blood turned cold with hatred. "_Sturmbannführer_, it is never a pleasure to speak with you. So, state your purpose for calling me so late tonight."

"I am sure you are eager to get back to finding your missing prisoners," replied the _Sturmbannführer_ coolly.

Duerr's jaw clenched. How had this parasite found out? Duerr had been sure to keep the matter internal for the Wehrmacht.

The _Sturmbannführer_ chuckled on the other side. "We are the SS. We are able to find out many things. You really think that you could have ordered a regiment from the Oflag without one of my superiors noticing. I received a call this afternoon to be alert for trouble."

"I would have thought you would have learned that by now," said Duerr. "With all the escapes you have had, I would assume that there are now triple the original amount of guards at your camp."

The _Sturmbannführer_ chuckled nonchalantly. "You are so defensive, Major. Besides, none of my prisoners actually make it away. They escape, but we manage to collect them back within a few days. And afterwards, they never escape again."

"Please," spat Duerr. "I do not want to hear about you bullying helpless men. Now, was there any other reason that you wanted to bother me?"

"Actually, yes," said the _Sturmbannführer_. "I just wanted to let you know that I have always wondered how well the French work."

Duerr had no time to reply, because there was a resounding click on the other side. Still, it took no time for him to realize what the _Sturmbannführer_ had meant by his words. Somehow, the SS had recaptured the French Corporal, and now it appeared that the _Sturmbannführer_ wanted to keep him for his own.

Duerr quickly strode from his office. He called for Berg, left another guard in charged, and then drove out of camp. Berg looked to his commanding officer questioningly.

"_Herr Major_," he said. "Where are we going?"

"We need to go get one of the prisoners before it is too late," said Duerr.

Berg had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but just let Duerr drive in silence. He could feel the Major's anger and tension. Berg realized that something must have gone wrong.


	24. One Day Out

**Chapter Twenty-Four: O****ne**** D****ay**** O****ut**

Louis was pulled from between the two logs where the dog had found him. It was with horror that Louis saw that the men who had found him were SS. He was certain he would be shot right then and there. But he became a curious person then. The SS were not looking for him. They were looking for some of their own prisoners. Louis saw that two had been recaptured. They were not in soldiers' uniforms, but were in filthy work clothes instead. They were thin, and looked scared. Both had been shot, but were alive. One had been shot in the arm, the other in the calf.

Louis was hauled in front of the ranking SS soldier. The man pulled off Louis's civilian hat and jacket, exposing his uniform. One of the soldiers tapped he French patch on his shoulder. Louis, though he could not really understand them, concluded that they must have concluded that he was an escaped POW. So, he was put in line with the other two prisoners, and they were marched away. They came upon the road, marched down that for about a quarter of a mile. They came across another prison camp. Louis assumed this was just another POW camp, and though nothing more of it. The guards opened the gate, and the prisoners were pushed through. Louis was separated from the other two prisoners. They were pushed off into the dark, and then Louis was brought over to some other buildings. He realized this must be the Kommandant's office, and sure enough, when they stepped inside, there was a SS officer waiting for them.

The two guards who were escorting Louis talked with their commanding officer for quite some time. Louis could not understand them, but found himself intrigued by a large map that was on the side wall. Louis suppressed a smile as he worked on memorizing everything he could. He found Bielski, and then went about noting where all the towns were along with railroads. There were other marks on the map as well, noting that something had to be there. Louis did not worry about trying to decipher the key. For now, knowing something was there was all he needed. It appeared that he had hit a jackpot.

When the conversation ended, Louis quickly looked back to the commanding officer. He did not like the looks of this man at all. The officer was looking at him with a somewhat pleased look. He sent one of the guards out, and turned his full attention onto Louis.

"I am _Sturmbannführer_ Jöchmann_,_" he said. His accent was very thick. He was struggling with his English. Louis kept a passive face. "I assume you are from Stalag XXXA."

Louis remained passive even at that. He would not let on that he could speak English. That way, maybe he would not have to talk with this officer at all.

It worked. The Jöchmann went back to German. "He must only speak French." He looked to his guard. "Find anyone who can speak French. If it is a prisoner, offer them more rations to help. Meanwhile, take the Frenchman to a cell. No water or food. Was he searched?"

"Yes," answered the guard. "We found some bread, a canteen, and wire-clippers on him. Also, he was wearing a jacket over his uniform, and was wearing a civilian cover."

"Very well, bring him to the cell then," answered Jöchmann

Louis was taken from the office, to another building, which turned out to be the cooler. He found that he could not relax. For one, the condition of the cell made him nauseated. It was tiny, reeked of blood, urine, and feces, it was freezing cold, and there was no light. Louis was sure that even in the daytime no light managed its way in there. It was pitch dark. Louis could not even see the hand in front of his face. He could imagine being somewhere else, but the smell prevented that.

Louis just wished that his stay here was very short.

***** ***** *****

Louis would have been very surprised to learn that someone was coming to the camp to and also wished his stay was very short. That someone was Major Duerr, looking very unhappy and very intimidating. Especially since the powerful looking Sergeant Berg was with him. Duerr had no trouble getting into the camp. The SS soldiers guarding it had no mind to mess with a Major from any branch of the military. However, what agitated Duerr the most was _Sturmbannführer J_öchmann's attitude.

The _Sturmbannführer_ was always very conceited and arrogant. He held no respect for anyone but perhaps himself and the _Führer. _Perhaps he really had no good meaning for respect anyway. But Major Duerr knew there was more to the military than bullying others around and making yourself feeling superior to already defeated men. So, when he stomped up to the _Sturmbannführer_'soffice, he made a point to be very disrespectful.

Jöchmann could not mask a look of surprise when Duerr burst into his office and slammed the door behind him. Still, Jöchmann quickly composed himself and began doing what he loved to do the most: frustrate other officers.

"You look a little upset, Major," he said. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I would like my prisoner back," growled Duerr. "And he had better be in good condition or I will have the General involved in this. And we wouldn't want to have your pristine record tarnished, would we?"

Jöchmann just smiled. "Major, there is nothing you can do to get me in trouble. And, unless you have proper authorization, I cannot release the prisoner to you."

"Proper authorization," echoed Duerr impatiently. "I would think that I am proper authorization. He is my prisoner!"

"Really," asked Jöchmann. "Because my men captured him just a few hours ago. I believe that makes him a prisoner of the SS."

"You talk of authorization as if you have any," said Duerr. "You are only ordered to keep Polish prisoners at a work camp. This man is a French soldier of the French Army. He is under my jurisdiction."

Jöchmann was quiet for a moment. "Do you know what he was wearing when we found him?"

Duerr felt uneasy, but did not let it show. "I assume his uniform."

"Actually, no," said Jöchmann. "He was wearing a civilian jacket and hat. You know what I think? I think that maybe he was a spy."

"That's ridiculous," cried Duerr. "You are fabricating a story just so that you can keep this man. Well, let me tell you something. I let them wear civilian jackets when they work in the cold. They make them from Red Cross blankets. So, you have nothing there. And a spy? Really? They are POWs! They want out!"

"That is not the way I see it," replied Jöchmann coolly. "Major, I suggest you go find some authorization because you will not get this prisoner."

Duerr held Jöchmann's gaze for a long moment. The room was tense. Then, Duerr turned away, slamming the office door behind him. Out on the porch, Berg had stood waiting. He quickly followed his commanding officer back into the care. Once again, the Major rushed out of camp, just as the sun began to rise.

"Sir," he asked. "What are you going to do now?"

"Get authorization," said Duerr. "And also more men to look for that Englishman. Because if that man finds the Englishman, we will most definitely be one prisoner short."

***** ***** *****

The Englishman was now, as he watched the sun rise, realizing that he needed a place to hide and sleep. Originally, he had thought that he would sleep when night came. But he realized then that it would make more sense to travel at night. It would be easier at night to dodge any Germans he might come across.

Through the remainder of the afternoon, he had gone around several large farms that were like the Jakowitz farm. On all of them he had seen prisoners working. By the time he had reached the fifth farm, the prisoners were being lined up. It was 0300, when they normally began lining up to return to the camp. Peter had hoped that back at the Jakowitz farm, he was only just being missed.

After skirting around another two farms, the wilderness took over. The valley ended after only a few hundred yards, and suddenly it was all up hill. There was a large creek that he had to make his way across. That was a small adventure in itself. He was a city boy after all. This traversing through the countryside and forest was something he had never done before, and had no idea how to get around such things as a fast-paced creek with a lot of rocks. Finally, he was able to scout out where he could go from one large rock to the next. It was slippery, so he had to be careful. But he managed, and when he was firmly on the ground on the other side, he was so relieved he smiled. He did not even know how to swim.

What Peter had original thought was just hills that surrounded the valley of Bielski, turned out to be steep, small mountains. There was a lot of dead fall, and he had to be careful not to make a wrong step. There was more snow on the ground here, and sometimes he would put his foot down, and it went down into a little hole that had been created by erosion. The ground was harder, and there was more rock too. Once, his shin caught a sharp piece, and he swore loudly. But only snickering squirrels heard him.

He took it slow here, because he knew that if he got injured, he might never make it back. When night finally came, he was even more careful. He nearly lost it once when he stepped into a narrow and shallow crevice, where water had trickled down the mountain. But it was ice now. His boot had no traction, so he slipped, slamming his face against the hard ground. He continued to slide down, until he grabbed a little sapling. He jolted to a stop, and pulled himself out of the crevice and continued on.

This was the kind of going he took all night. He was sure that if it had been during the day, he would have reached the top much quicker. However, it was not until right before daybreak did he finally reach the crest. He sat down to rest, and pulled out a piece of bread. He, too, had saved up some bread for the excursion, and some water. He had refilled his canteen at the creek, so it was now filled with fresh, cool water. It was better than the stuff they got from camp which came from a poorly dug well.

The sun began to rise, and what a sight it was. On top of that little mountain, Peter could have been on the top of the world. There were two valleys on either side of him, both giving way to beautiful farmland. The sky, however, was more beautiful. There were some clouds on the horizon, and the sun turned them into a painted canvas of all colors. There was purples, red, oranges, yellows, blues, even some green mixed in as the crystals in the clouds were touched by the sunlight. For a moment, Peter could not see where the land began and the sky ended. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

But, as all things do, it came to an end when the sun fully rose over the horizon. Then, Peter was forced down the mountain some, where he found some rock to slide under. After clearing it of any foliage that may be hiding critters, he slipped under, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

***** ***** *****

Duerr returned to camp, just as roll call was being completed. The prisoners watched apprehensively as Duerr drove into camp. So far, they knew nothing of what was going on. Most of them had had a sleepless night, wondering what was going on. There had been a lot of activity through the night, with guards moving around constantly, and Duerr leaving the camp about an hour ago.

By now, the prisoners knew that Peter and Louis had not just taken off. They were on a mission. So, both men were now being seen as heroes by the others. Their safe return was being looked forward to. Luke still remained in the cooler, and his name was now revered too. Even though he had done nothing more than deny he knew anything, some men were already swirling tales around about how Luke had masterfully withstood Duerr's interrogation. Though, Duerr had not even seen Luke since he was put in the cooler.

Duerr let Berg take the car back to the motor pool. He then walked out in front of the prisoners to address them.

"There will be no work today," he announced. He had to pause while a little cheer rose from the prisoners. "However, you _will_ be going to work tomorrow. Today, you will be confined to barracks the entire day. Meals will go as normal, but there will be no rec hall. And I warn you now: if you are caught outside the barracks at anytime, you will be put in the cooler for two weeks on half-rations. Also, all privileges for the next week are revoked. That is all. Captain Lawrence, report to my office immediately. Everyone else, in your barracks."

The prisoners silently and solemnly went back inside. Captain Lawrence went to Duerr's office. They waited there until the major returned with Commandant Géraud. He went behind his desk and then turned to address all of them. There were circles underneath his eyes, but he still stood resolute and with authority.

"The French Corporal was found early this morning," he told them emotionlessly. "No doubt, the Englishman will be found sometime today."

"Where is Corporal LeBeau," asked Géraud.

"Currently being held in a SS camp several miles from here," said Duerr. "He will remain there until I am able to get him out."

"SS," repeated Géraud, shocked. "Why is 'e being 'eld there?"

"They recaptured him," answered Duerr calmly. "He was not found far from their camp. He apparently had no idea where he was going."

Lawrence and Géraud looked at one another uneasily. Duerr watched them. "I tried to warn you," he muttered impatiently. "One: an escape here is foolish. There is no possible way for you to get home this deep in our territory. You would starve. Two: the Wehrmacht are not the ruling power around here. It is the SS. Therefore, there is a good chance that if _they _saw you, they would shoot you on the spot and ask questions later. Corporal LeBeau was very fortunate. Corporal Newkirk will not be so if the SS captures them. The SS officer in command already knows who he is. He will not hesitate to shoot him."

Lawrence swallowed nervously. "Sir, was his trail found?"

"No," answered Duerr. "It snowed too heavily. But do not worry, he _will_ be found. Just pray it is my men, and not the SS."

"And what about Private Fairnth," asked Lawrence. "The man in the cooler?"

"He will remain in there for a week, for aiding a prisoner to escape," answered Duerr. "No other questions? Good, you are dismissed." He sat down and went into paperwork.

Lawrence and Géraud left. Right before the guards separated them, Géraud looked to Lawrence.

"Tell your men about this SS," he said. "They must all be warned now."

"Yes, sir," said Lawrence.

Back inside the office, Duerr slammed his pen down. Right then, the back door of his office opened. The Kommandant stepped in. Duerr stood up out of respect, but the Kommandant motioned for him to sit back down. The Kommandant looked even worse than Duerr. Staying up all night, coordinating the search for a missing prisoner was not good for his health. But he had lasted with determination to help his men; which was the reason.

"I have called the General," said the Kommandant. "He understands and will contact that rat Jöchmann. We should have our prisoner back by this evening."

Duerr breathed a sigh of relief. "These foolish prisoners. Why can they not just stay here for the duration? I understand their wish to be free, but there is a much greater chance that they will die while on the run than to ever see their home again."

But the Kommandant just smiled. "Karl, I have known you for a long time, and I have never heard you say something like that. You ought to know that a man will die for freedom."

"I do," replied Duerr. "I do. And I would look at is as a game if those SS pigs were not involved." He shook his head with disgust. "How did this military, and its honor, ever fall into such corruption?"

"You know the answer," said the Kommandant. "We just cannot speak of it. I suppose the answer to all of this is: will the glorious Third Reich last longer the more it takes over or will it diminish faster the more anger it induces?"

"That is not an answer," said Duerr, confused. "It is a question."

The Kommandant smiled. "I know. Just listen in for a phone call. The General will let you know when you can go retrieve the Frenchman. Meanwhile, concentrate most of our men in the north. I have a feeling the Englishman will be up there somewhere. It is the shortest route to the sea. I, for now, will be getting some rest."

"Yes, sir," said Duerr. He turned back to his work with a smile. He had much love for his commanding officer, but sometimes that old man just did not make sense.

***** ***** *****

Peter woke up with a start, and slammed his head against the low ceiling of the rock he was under. He swore loudly and rubbed his tender head with a groan. He blinked a few times, to get the sleep out of his eyes. Looking out, he could see that the sun was way up in the sky now. He looked at his watch; it was a little after noon.

He slid out from under the rock, and stood up. He stretched and cracked about every joint in his body. Lying under a rock on top of more rock was probably not the best thing for your back, he decided. He quickly relieved himself, and then decided to venture back to the top of the little mountain again, to have a look around. It only took him a few minutes, and when he got there, he knelt down. He had no idea what one could see from the bottom, but it was pretty wide open. He did not want to risk it.

It was all farm land in the other valley. There were more hills a good many miles away. He also saw the train tracks running perpendicular to him. He spotted another town about five miles away from the base of the mountain. It looked to be a bit larger than Bielski, but definitely nothing serious. And there was a lot of vat, untouched land around it and the farmlands. Someone could easily skirt around it at night.

While looking over the land, he decided he would remain here for the remainder of the day unless he was forced to move. Then, at night, he would go around the town, and make for the next ridge on the other side. It would be another long trek, but he was willing to give it a go to gather another day's worth of information. After that, he would probably be out of food. But only then would he turn himself back in.

He lay on the ridge for sometime more, enjoying being able to bask in the sun. The snow was melted here, since there were fewer trees to shade it and keep it cool. So, he lay out and just rested. The only time he was able to do this was back in the barracks. But here, the air was not stuffy and he was not crammed in with twenty other men. There was even a nice breeze. He itched for a smoke, but did not dare put the scent in the air. While lying there, he thought about home. Once, when he was thirteen, he, Mavis, and their mother had taken an outing to the country. He could remember lying in the grass watching the clouds go by with Mavis while his mother made her daughter a little crown from the wildflowers. Mavis then made Peter one, which Peter had promptly squashed with boyish disgust. He could remember his mother's admonishing glare when Mavis burst into tears at her brother's rejection of her crown.

That had been when Mavis was five. Now, she was sixteen, and living on her own for the first time during a war. Peter, though not a sentimentalist, could not help himself as some tears threatened to spill. How long would it be before he saw her again? She had always been his little sister, and he was afraid that when he returned she would be all grown up. But, he told himself, at sixteen he had had the responsibilities of an adult. Surely, Mavis was already grown up. Still, he could not help but be angry that he was not there to look after her, like he had promised himself.

His thoughts eventually drifted to Louis. He wondered how far the Frenchman had gotten. He hoped everything went smooth, and that they both got back to camp alright. For all its ironies, Peter was proud to be friends with Louis. The man was loyal, patriotic, caring, a fighter, and nobler than Peter ever thought he could be. Louis was like the perfect little man he thought. Respectable. Peter smiled, thinking how he used to think that anyone who was that good was just stuck up. He knew now, after meeting so many different people, he could never look at others the same.

_It's funny_, he thought. _How war is so terrible, and yet some good manages to come out of it._

After what seemed about an hour, some clouds began to move in. Peter regarded them with disdain, because they stole some of the sun's warmth. He rolled over and looked to the north where they were coming from. It was looking very bleak in that direction. Dark clouds were coming in over the ridge. Peter could tell that they were holding snow. He swore under his breath. He had been hoping for at least another night with good weather. It would make travel easier and faster. After another half hour, the clouds were over him. He watched them, until finally some flakes began to fall.

With that, he got up to go back underneath his rock. But he froze. Because directly in front of him, down the northern side of the mountain, stood a little girl. She was staring right at him. Peter locked eyes with hers. Both of their eyes went wide with fear. Then, the little girl screamed.

It was the most high-pitched scream Peter had heard in his life. His heart dropped to his stomach. Quickly, he skidded down to the girl and clamped his filthy hands over her mouth. She had not even moved when he came after her. She stood there, frozen with fear. She continued to scream under his hand.

"No. Shhh. Shhh. Please be quiet, miss. Just you shush now, please. I ain't gonna 'urt you," said Peter. He kept shaking his head, and trying to talk in soothing tones to her. He knew she probably didn't understand him, but he kept trying to calm her down anyway. "Please," he whispered. "Shhh. Please stop screaming." Suddenly, she stopped. Peter smiled kindly. "That's right. I ain't gonna 'urt you." The girl looked at him curiously and then her eyes went elsewhere, behind Peter.

The hair on the back of Peter's neck stood up. He knew there was someone behind him. He let go of the girl, and she took a few little steps back. Peter raised his hands and turned around, still kneeling.

An older man was behind him, further up the hill. He had a shovel raised and ready to come down. Peter grimaced, waiting for the blow. But the man seemed to hesitate some. He looked at Peter's jacket. Peter followed the man's eyes to his shoulder patch. Peter smiled.

"Za, za. Angielski," said Peter eagerly. (1) Working on a Polish farm had its uses, he thought.

The old man did not look completely satisfied but lowered his shovel. He motioned for Peter to stand up. Peter quickly did, and kept smiling. The girl ran around Peter and to the old man's side.

The old man looked down at here and the exchanged a few words. Then, the old man looked at Peter and motioned for him to follow. Peter just nodded his understanding. He kept the smiled plastered on his face. Anything to not bring on this man's distrust. Peter was sure he could dodge the shovel now, but if the old man went to authorities, that would surely mean trouble. So, he began to follow the old man down the hill, all the while praying that he was not walking back into captivity.

* * *

(1) Translation: Yeah, yeah. English.


	25. Confined and Unconfined

**Chapter Twenty-Five: C****onfined ****and**** U****nconfined**

Louis fell eventually. He was overcome by exhaustion. When he woke up, it was mid-morning. He knew because two guards hauled him out of the cooler, and into the bright sunlight. It took him a few moments to get rid of the blindness, and he was finally able to look around. He was definitely in a POW camp, but no prisoners were in sight. Louis realized that they must be out working. He was hurriedly escorted around some barracks and into a small compound. In the middle, there was a hut. It looked to be around twelve feet long, five feet wide, and three feet high. Louis blanched when he saw it. _Sturmbannführer _Jöchmann stood beside it, looking smug. There was another fearful prisoner as well. Jöchmann said something to the prisoner. Then, the prisoner looked to Louis.

"What were you doing out in the woods last night," he asked in French.

"Escaping," answered Louis. He found no loss or gain in lying. The prisoner gave Louis's answer to Jöchmann. The _Sturmbannführer_ smiled, and replied. The prisoner sorrowfully looked back at Louis.

"He said: then you must be punished," responded the prisoner.

Jöchmann moved away from the little hut. A guard pushed Louis forward and another guard opened the hut. Louis could see two still figures lying down inside. He grimaced.

"_Schnell!"_

Louis was prodded forward with a club. Carefully, he knelt down and went inside. He sat down as close to the door as he could, bringing his knees up to his chest. When the door was shut, he was engulfed in darkness again.

It was not complete darkness, however. Some light found its way through the cracks between the entrance and the walls. After Louis's eyes adjusted again, he could make out some of the inside. The walls were tin, and held together with plywood. The air was thick, even right by the door. It smelled like the cooler had. There was no movement for a time. Louis saw that the two men lying down were the two prisoners who had been captured the night before. He wondered how they were. He recalled that they had been shot. Louis eventually closed his eyes, trying to imagine being somewhere else. He felt like the walls were closing in on him.

Then, one of the prisoners began to move. He was waking up. He had been lying on his stomach, and now he sat up, and leaned against the wall. It was only after rubbing his eyes some, that he noticed Louis. Louis looked back at him. They were silent for a moment, and then the prisoner spoke.

"_Dlaczego czy jesteś tutaj_," he asked.

Louis shook his head, trying to convey that he could not understand. He remembered what the Polish farmers called him. "_Francuski._"

The prisoner was silent for a moment. "Speak English?"

Louis was silent and then nodded. "A little." He did not want to give away that he was fluent in English.

The Polish prisoner nodded. "Ummm, me too?" He gave an awkward smile, and shifted his weight some. He winced, though, when he leaned on one arm. Louis squinted in the dark, and saw that this man was shot in the arm. Louis looked at the Pole worriedly. But the Pole smiled and waved his hand dismissively. "Bullet go through. I tie arm to halt blood."

Louis nodded his understanding. Then, he pointed to the other man, who was showing no signs of waking up anytime soon.

"'Im," asked Louis.

The Pole looked back at him mournfully. "He die." He sighed heavily, and sniffed.

Louis turned his head away to give the man some privacy.

"He was friend best," the Pole went on. "One day, I escape, avenge him. Maybe, one day, I come back, kill _Sturmbannführer_."

Louis looked back at the man sharply. "SS officer?"

The Pole nodded. "One day," he repeated.

Louis nodded and then averted his eyes away from the grieving Pole. After a few moments he asked, "Why put us in 'ere?"

The Pole looked up, shocked, as if Louis should have known. "You escape, this punishment. _Sturmbannführer_ call it the _Przeprowadzanych Dziura_." Louis cocked his head uncertainly. The Pole struggled to find the right word. "Hungry…_Nr_…starving…_za, za_…the starving hole."

Louis's eyebrows shot up, his stomach already growling at the very name. "'Ow long?"

The Poe prisoner shrugged. "Till _Sturmbannführer_ say no more, go back work. Sometime, leave till die. Sometime, so long wish dead."

Louis groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall. Why him? He closed his eyes, wishing that dreams would take him out of there. Then, another thought struck him.

_Peter!_

Louis guiltily remembered his English friend. He had forgotten about him. He hoped that wherever Peter was, he was far away from this hell hole. He hoped that if Peter decided to really come back, he was found by the Wehrmacht. Louis was sure, after hearing the story about the _Sturmbannführer_ that Peter would be shot on the spot.

_Please, Peter. Just leave. Don't come back here. Just get out and never come back. There's no point anymore. If this is what the camps are coming to, just leave and get back in the fight. Or rather, tie yourself down to a desk and don't get recaptured. _

But Louis smiled, knowing that if Peter ever got back home, he would try and get right back in the fight. Louis knew he would as well.

_Wherever you are, be safe._

***** ***** *****

Peter was now directly in front of the old man, who was precariously directing him down the mountain. They were on a path, making the trek easier. Peter kept his hands on his head, assuring the farmer that he was up to nothing. When they reached the base of the mountain, the farmer said "_Halt_." Peter was saddened that German would be their communication language.

The old man walked in front of Peter, but kept his distance. He pointed to himself. "_Za mną idzie. Jeśli się nie ja zawołam przez hitlerowców._"

Peter shook his head. "_Angielski_."

The old man scowled in frustration. After a moment of concentration, he impatiently motioned for Peter to follow. Peter nodded in comprehension. The farmer told the little girl something and pointed across the field to a patch of trees opposite them. The girl nodded, and then ran off.

The old man watched her go. When he was satisfied that she was safely on the other side, he looked at Peter. He put his hand low to the ground and pointed across the field. He crouched for emphasis. Peter realized what he had to do.

"_Schnell_," ordered the old man.

Peter did not hesitate another second. He crouched low and ran across the field. The old man was surprisingly quick and right behind Peter the whole way. They stopped at the patch of trees. The girl quickly returned to the old man's side. The old man then motioned for Peter to get in front again. They went through the trees, and Peter stopped when he could see a house in farmland clearing ahead. But the old man prodded him along. Peter put his hands back on his head again to show his cooperation.

When they came to the edge of the trees, the old man told Peter to stop again. Once again, the girl was sent ahead. She sprinted towards the house, and the old man stepped back with Peter so that they could not be seen.

When the girl came back she told the old man something. Peter was put in front again, and they hurried to the house. They entered through the back door, which led into the kitchen. The old man, now feeling more authoritative, pushed Peter down in a chair in the corner of the kitchen. He held his shovel firmly in his hand.

Peter watched as the girl ran out of the room. Peter tried to peer around the corner to see where the girl had gone, but the old man moved in the way. Peter just smiled and put his hands on his head again. Still, he could hear the girl pounding up the stairs. He heard some voices above, and then more footsteps coming downstairs. Then, the girl led a young woman into the kitchen.

Peter could not tell if this was the girl's mother or not. She seemed too young to appropriately be her mother, but she was still a woman. She looked like the simple housewife one would expect to find on a farm. She wore a faded work dress with an apron tied around her waist. Her dark hair was pulled up, so that nothing obscured her equally dark eyes. She had a very calm, kind face, and looked at Peter with curious eyes. She looked to the old man questioningly, and they spoke for a moment.

She looked back at Peter. "My grandfather tells me you are English."

Peter smiled. Although her accent was thick, she was very understandable, and her syntax was good. "Aye," he answered. "I am an escapee from the POW camp over the other side of those hills." He spoke as clearly as he could, not wanting to confuse the girl with his usual dialect.

The woman nodded. "That is what my grandfather assumed. And my sister says that you were lying out in the sun. That does not sound like an escaping POW."

Peter smiled at the little girl clinging onto her older sister's apron. "I was waiting for night before I moved again. It is less risky."

"Yes," agreed the woman. "Well, my name is Irena. This is my sister, Anna Maja. And this is my grandfather, Rupert. We will help you however we can. But we will not take you anywhere. We cannot afford it."

"Don't worry," said Peter. "I will only need some more food and perhaps a map to look at?"

Irena smiled. "Of course. But first, it is supper time. You will eat with us."

Peter was so relieved, all he could say was, "Yes, mum."

Irena chuckled. "You can put your hands down now, _Angielski_."

Peter smiled sheepishly and quickly put down his hands, sweeping his hat off in the process. "Anything I can do to help?"

"_Za_," replied Irena sweetly. "You can sit right there and stay out of my way."

"Yes, of course," said Peter. So, he leaned back in the chair some. He listened as Irena explained to her grandfather what she was doing. Grandfather Rupert seemed calmer now, since communication was successful. He went outside and returned without a shovel. Peter smiled at him, and Rupert just nodded back. He went into the den and took out a pipe and smoked contently. The little girl, Anna Maja, curled up in his lap, and watched Peter from there.

Peter watched Irena take bread out of the oven, and then stir the pot some as she put out the fire. His mouth was watering by now with the smell of the food. He looked at the pot longingly, as the scent of meat and vegetables rose in the air. Peter could not believe his luck. He would be eating a home cooked meal again.

"Might I ask what your grandfather and sister were doing in the woods with a shovel," asked Peter suddenly.

Irena smiled. "I do not mind. You see, Anna's rabbit passed away this morning. She had found it up there on the ridge a few years ago. So, she insisted on burying it there."

"I understand," said Peter. "I suppose that it's not the only rabbit, then."

Irena chuckled knowingly. "Oh no. My father had it locked up always and if it was ever out, there was always someone besides Anna watching it."

"Your father," asked Peter uncertainly. "Is he…uh…around?"

Irena smiled. "You do not need to be afraid of him. He will be all too eager to help you. He is working at a factory right now."

"Oh, I see," said Peter. "And your mother?"

"She passed a few years ago," answered Irena simply.

"Oh, I'm sorry," replied Peter. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No," said Irena. "It is okay. She died just after Anna was born. There was a flu outbreak in the town, and she was sickly to begin with."

"Yeah, my mum died from illness too," said Peter. "Don't even know what it was. She just got sick."

"I am sorry," said Irena, as she set the bread out on the table. "Was it recent?"

"About a year ago," answered Peter. "But don't worry about that. I want to know where you learned to speak English so well."

"I went to university in Warsaw," replied Irena proudly. "I wanted to study abroad one day, so I took English as well."

"University," said Peter with awe. "I've never even been in a university. How come you're back here? Was it because of the invasion?"

Irena nodded. "I almost got a degree, but when we were invaded, I wanted to be home, with my sister and father. And it was the right thing to do. When I returned, the land was not in much good shape, and then father had to go work in the factory. So, now my grandfather and I work our little farm mainly. It is not big, but we make a little business in town. Since the large farms must sell everything to the Nazis, we can sell our products to the townspeople."

"Sounds good," said Peter.

"Yes, it is working out for now," replied Irena. She finished setting out the bowls, which were filled to the brim with hot soup. There was also cream on the table for the bread, and a bowl of milk.

"Er… is there a place where I can wash up," asked Peter, looking down at his grimy hands.

"Oh, of course," said Irena. "There is a room with a sink across the hall from the stairs."

"Thanks," said Peter. He got up and went to the little room. Inside there was only a sink with some soap and a mirror. Peter stopped when he saw himself in the mirror. He had not seen a mirror since leaving England. There were no mirrors in the barracks. When they needed to shave or get their hair cut, other prisoners did it.

Peter studied himself, noticing differences that had come only in five months. The first thing he noticed was how worn down he looked. There were sagging circles underneath his eyes, and a few more wrinkles on his face than he could remember having before. His cheeks had sunken in some as well. His skin was somewhat darker, which he assumed was from working outside a trifle more than usual.

He noticed differences even in his uniform. It looked thinner, and with the coat made from a blanket, he looked bedraggled. There were mud stains all over, especially on his pants. As he looked down at his pants more carefully, he noticed how terrible his boots were becoming. They were muddy and worn down more than he had cared to notice. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he was getting a bit of a draft around his toes.

_Only five months_, he thought. _How long am I going to be here? And what kind of condition am I going to be in after that?_

He scrubbed his hands raw, and then went back into the kitchen. The small family was already seated. He sat down awkwardly. Anna watched him curiously. Once Peter was seated, the family put their heads down. Peter realized with a jolt that they were saying grace. He quickly bowed his head too. Irena murmured a Polish prayer. Peter just stared down at the food.

_Thanks for letting me eat a real meal, _he thought._ Watch over Mavis, Louis, Luke, Stephen, Marcel, Kingsley, Thom—_he was cut off when Irena said "Amen". Everyone looked up and began eating.

_Just watch over everyone, _he finished.

Then, he picked up the spoon and dug in. Actually, dug in was an extreme understatement. Peter was sure he had never tasted something so great. There was real meat in the soup, with fresh vegetables and warm gravy. He avoided the potatoes; he had had enough potatoes. But once he got towards the end, he could not deny that he wanted more, so he ate the potatoes as well. He wiped up the bowl with two pieces of warm bread, and washed it all down with cool milk topped with cream.

He gave a grateful sigh when he was done, and looked up to see his hosts looking at him. He smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry. I was hungry," he said quickly.

Irena smirked, and looked to her grandfather. Rupert was staring at Peter. Peter bowed his head, feeling ashamed for eating like an animal at their dinner table. Then, a soft chuckle made him look back up. Rupert was chuckling. Peter could feel his face turning red. He believed that Rupert was laughing at his behavior. Rupert said something. Irena smiled and translated for Peter.

"He says that you remind him of when he was a boy, and when he ate like he would never see food again," she said.

Peter was relieved that he was not being admonished. "Well, it's likely to be a long time before I ever do see real food like this again."

Irena smiled, but with a sad undertone. She translated for her father, and Rupert stopped laughing. He patted Peter's wrist, and said something.

"He says that in the Kingdom of Heaven there will always be food for a good man," translated Irena.

Peter smiled. "_Dziękujemy_." (1) He had no heart to tell the old man that Peter Newkirk was no heaven bound being. Instead, Rupert was thrilled to hear another Polish word emanate from Peter.

Supper ended, and Rupert took Anna back outside. Irena picked up the dishes, and began to wash them.

"Would you like any help with that," asked Peter.

"No," said Irena. "You look exhausted. You should get some sleep."

Peter bit his lip. "Actually, I was thinking that I ought to get going again. The food was great, but the longer I stay, there's a greater chance that someone will find me here."

"But you cannot go now," said Irena. "It's broad daylight! Someone could see you!"

"Don't worry," said Peter earnestly. "I can make it into the woods, and I should be fine till night. Besides, you and your family would be better off if I were found out there. Don't you know what would happen if they knew you harbored me?"

That seemed to change Irena's mind. "Okay, but I will pack you some food then. And water. And I will show you a map."

"Thank you," said Peter.

Irena went to the kitchen door and called for Rupert to come back. He came, with Anna in tow, of course. She quickly told him what was going to happen. He nodded and left the room. Irena told Anna to stay put in the living room.

Irena cut up the remaining bread and refilled Peter's canteen. Rupert returned with a small satchel and map. He set them on the table. Irena wrapped the bread and put it in the bag, and Rupert added a small, but dry blanket. He also handed Peter some sturdy gloves. Peter thanked him again. Then, Irena rolled out the map. Peter gawked; it was a map of Poland, Germany, the Baltic Sea and the Scandinavian countries.

Irena quickly told him of everything nearby. He traced what he thought was his best shot at getting to the Sea. Then, she spoke of what lie in that direction: cities, railroads, rivers, wilderness, and well-known Nazi posts. Peter took it all in. He had to memorize all of it and bring it back to the camp. Finally, when he was sure he was through, he said he needed to be going.

"Thanks for everything," he said. "I appreciate all of it. And I won't forget you."

"Good luck," replied Irena. "I hope you get home."

"Thanks," said Peter. He shook her hand and Rupert's. Anna just smiled at him shyly.

Rupert took him to the edge of the farm, and with one final good bye, Peter took off across the field and into the woods at the base of the hills.

Once he was there, Peter climbed up a bit, just to get out of sight. When he was comfortable, he sat down, thinking of his next course of action. It was now a little after two o'clock. He knew had quite enough information to bring back to camp. And it was more than enough that would be welcomed. However, he had no desire to go back to camp. Why, if he was careful enough, he could stay out at least another three days with the bread he had now. Peter smiled to himself. That idea appealed nicely to him.

With his mind made up, he searched for another place to rest until nightfall. Without climbing back up the mountain, the best he could find was a dense concentration of bushes. He settled down underneath the brush and was pleased to find that the ground beneath it had no snow. He pulled out the blanket that Rupert had packed him. He quickly fell asleep a little warmer, and with a full stomach.

***** ***** *****

Louis wished he could fall asleep. By late afternoon, he realized how tormenting the hut was. It was small, cold, and reeked. Also, having a dead man just lying beside him was unnerving. Louis was a soldier, somewhat calloused to death, but not in this nature. Not this blatant cruelty of man killing man…just for the heck of it. It was more justified out in the field when you were shooting at one another. Out there, it was survival. Within these barbwire fences, it was brutality.

He and the Polish prisoner had exchanged only a few other words. But since English was limited, it was hard and tiresome. The other Polish prisoner became still, but with sleep. Louis, however, could not get his heart to stop pounding. He was becoming more irked with the tight space. He wanted a breath of fresh air. He wanted to stand up and stretch his legs. He wanted movement. He felt like he was even becoming sick with it.

He tried to think of something else. He tried to think of home, but it only worked in small periods. Something would always bring him back to present. If his eyes were open, he could not completely visualize home because of the dark walls. If he closed his eyes, the smell might jump out at him. And if not the smell, a soldier outside would say something, reminding him of where he was.

Instead of thinking of the past, he tried for the present, just not where he was. He thought of Peter, and wondered what he was doing. He wondered how far away he was, or if he had even gotten far away at all. He just prayed that above anything, Peter was not captured by the SS. He would not wish this treatment onto anyone.

As his thoughts drifted in and out of the hut, Louis tucked his head down between his knees, waiting for release.

* * *

(1) Translation: Thank you


	26. The Frenchman Returns

**Chapter Twenty-Six: T****he**** F****renchman**** R****eturns**

Major Duerr and Sergeant Berg stepped out of the car in the SS camp compound. It was early evening, and the prisoners were returning back from work. Duerr was disgusted with their terrible appearance. If his prisoners had been this bad, he would have never sent them to work. Still, he ignored them for the most part and headed towards the administrative buildings. He was met halfway there by _Sturmbannführer _Jöchmann, who was flanked by two guards.

"What can I do for you Major," he asked indignantly.

"You know very well what I want you to do," replied Duerr evenly. "Give me my prisoner."

"Authorization," asked Jöchmann.

Berg shoved a piece of paper under Jöchmann's nose. The _Sturmbannführer _scowled at the sergeant as he took the paper. "Watch it Sergeant. I _am_ a superior officer."

"_Jawohl,_" said Berg, but not pleasantly.

"Now, that paper is signed by General Weiss," said Duerr. "I hope that is good enough authorization for you."

"It is," replied Jöchmann casually. "My men will show you where you will find the Frenchman. It was a pleasure doing business with you."

"The feeling is _not_ mutual," growled Duerr. He turned and followed the SS guards to the hut in the middle of the compound. Duerr's heart rose to his throat at the sight. He could not believe the way these men were being treated! The guards opened the front of the gate. Duerr looked in, and could see Louis sitting beside the door. There were two other men inside as well. Duerr nodded to Berg. The sergeant stepped forward and knelt beside the hut.

"Corporal," he asked. "Corporal LeBeau?"

There was no reply. None of the prisoners inside reacted.

"Corporal?" Berg slightly shook Louis by his arm.

Louis's head snapped up, and for a split second he was wide awake. Then, he was overcome with a wave of nausea and dizziness. He let his head fall back into his hands.

"_Nein, nein_," said Berg. "You must come out now." He shook Louis more.

Louis raised his head slowly, and looked at Berg. He squinted into the light, despite how dim it was. It was still darker inside the hut.

_"Que voulez?" _

"You must come out now," repeated Berg.

_"Pierre?_"

"_Nein_. You must come out now."

"It is no use," said a guard in German. "He is delusional. Just leave him."

"Be quiet," ordered Duerr. "Berg, just pull him out. Get him on his feet."

Berg nodded, and pulled Louis from the hut. Luis resisted at first, but realized that he was finally being taken out. He tried to stand up, but swayed. Berg held him upright.

"When did he eat last," asked Duerr.

The guards shrugged. "We never fed him," answered one.

Duerr just walked back to his car. He looked back when he saw the hut being closed. He wondered what would become of the men left inside. Deciding that it was best not to dwell on that, he got into the car. Berg guided Louis to the car, and then pushed him into the backseat. Louis just lay out across it, still in a daze. Berg got back in on the passenger seat. Duerr quickly left the camp.

About five minutes into the drive, there was a retching sound from the back of the car. Berg and Duerr turned around to see Louis onto the car floor. Duerr quickly pulled over. Berg climbed out and dragged Louis out of the car, so that he could finish in the ditch. When the Frenchman was finished, he was more alert. He looked around him.

"Where am I," he asked Berg.

"On your vay back to Stalag XXXA," answered Berg.

Louis sighed, looking exhausted. "What will 'appen to me?"

"The cooler for a week," answered Duerr from the car.

Louis looked to him oddly. "The cooler?"

"Yes," answered Duerr. "Usually, it would be three weeks. But you have already been punished enough. After you are released from the cooler, your privileges will still be revoked for another week."

"As long as I am not stuffed in a box," said Louis.

"Never," promised Duerr.

Louis nodded. "Fine. Then I will willingly go back to the camp with you."

"_Gut_," said Berg. "Because I not vant to shoot you."

Louis just shook his head and they got back in the car. He looked at the vomit. "Sorry."

"You can clean it when we get back to camp," said Duerr.

_"Oui Commandant_," answered Louis obediently.

They were silent for the next few miles, and then Louis broke the silence again.

"What about Corporal Newkirk," he asked.

"He is still abroad," answered Duerr. He looked in the rearview mirror in time to see Louis smile. "But be assured, that will not be for long. I received word just an hour ago that they have picked up his trail heading north. It appears that he has got over the hills and into the next valley. I am sure he will be captured soon."

"Maybe," said Louis defiantly. He was hopeful that Peter had a good enough fight in him to resist capture.

"French," said Berg disapprovingly.

"German," spat Louis. But there was mischief in his voice.

"Please," said Duerr distractedly. "I want no bickering."

_"Oui, Commandant."_

_"Jawohl, Herr Major_."

Duerr shook his head.

"But you will never catch the English," whispered Louis quickly.

***** ***** *****

Marcel paced his barracks. His barracks-mates watched him go back and forth; they had been watching this continuous action for hours. He had done it yesterday, and ever since they had returned from work today, he had been doing it.

"Please," said one man. "Stop walking. Your steps are driving holes through my skull."

Marcel glowered at his comrade, but stopped pacing. "I'm just worried."

"We know," said several men simultaneously.

Marcel sighed and sat down his bunk. "I wonder when Louis will come back."

"The Major left again," said someone. "Maybe it was to go get Louis."

"Sure," said Marcel. "Oh, that fool. He should have never taken this chance. If I could somehow have gotten out of the camp, I would have left for good.

There were murmurs of agreement.

"But it was still brave, what they did," said someone. "And the Boche still don't know where the Englishman is."

"Hmph," said another soldier. "He probably really did leave. I don't fault him for it all, though."

Marcel shot him a glance. "I don't either. Funny, I think that if I were outside this situation, I would call any man who abandoned the mission a coward. But, I know better now."

"Still, we don't even know if he really is escaping," pointed out someone. "Maybe he is just still out there, gathering information."

"Yeah," said Marcel. They were silent for a moment.

"Must be nice, being free."

***** ***** *****

On the other side of the fence, the barracks closest to the compound were crammed with men, most hanging out of the windows, despite the frigid air. Since returning from work, the British prisoners realized Duerr was gone. They knew he must have gone to pick up someone. So, many prisoners had decided to be in the front row to see who came home. Everyone assumed it was Louis, because they knew he had been recaptured.

Stephen sat by a window, with his chin rested on the sill. All the windows were wide open. It was cold, but they remained warm from their clothes and because they were all packed together. Stephen was flanked by Everley and Dean. They were silent, each submerged in his own thoughts. At the next window, Lawrence and O'Neill were talking quietly. They were not being secretive but the mood of the camp was still, and it felt like a violation to talk normally.

"You think he knows where Corporal Newkirk is," asked O'Neill.

"I don't think so," said Lawrence. "Maybe they have an idea of where he went, but I don't think they really know for sure yet. Leastways, that is how he made it sound."

"What if he was bluffing," questioned O'Neill suspiciously.

Lawrence thought for a moment. "I don't think he would be. He would want to gloat to us that he knew."

"True," replied O'Neill. They were quiet for another few moments. "You think he'd really come back?"

Lawrence smirked. "Who knows? If he found something good enough, he might just scram it all and say cheerio and make a run for it. Nothing wrong with that. We did put him in quite a position. Still, if anything, he's loyal."

"Loyal," repeated O'Neill, confused. "To himself maybe."

"Oi," said Everley, who had overheard. "Ain't nothin' wrong wif that."

"In wartime there is," argued O'Neill. "He should work for his countrymen."

"He will," stated Stephen knowingly. "And if it were reversed and Louis were the one out there, and Peter recaptured, Louis would come back too. Because even if they're not loyal to their country, or anyone else, they _are_ loyal to one another. And they both believe that the other would come back. Since they believe that, they'd never abandon the other. Therefore, Peter will come back. He'll come back and look for Louis. If the situation were reversed, Louis would come back looking for Peter. And even then, if the other one really did escape, the other would be glad. Because they'd want the other to be happy. Because they're friends." He paused. "Now that we have that settled, let's leave it at that."

There was a shocked silence for a moment. Then, Everley snorted and shook his head. "Parents. They really surprise you sometimes."

Everyone laughed, and even Stephen could not suppress a smile.

"Well, okay," said Lawrence. "Now we know, they're coming back."

Suddenly there was a shout from another barracks: "Look, here comes the Major!"

There was rush to the windows facing the compound. Everyone strained for a glance into the compound. They watched the Major drive into camp, and then through the gate leading to the administrative buildings. He parked there, and when he got out, went straight to his office. Berg also got out, and opened up the back door. He yanked Louis out, and began to escort him to the cooler.

The British prisoners cheered and called encouraging comments across the compound to Louis. But they were outdone easily by the French who began to sing.

***** ***** *****

The French prisoners were now hanging out their own windows and doors and singing their anthem emphatically. Louis, although deadbeat tired, could not help but smile. Berg had placed himself between Louis and the fence, so Louis could not entirely see the compound. But there was nothing to hide the patriotic sounds reverberating off every building. Berg looked highly annoyed, which made Louis even happier.

The song could still be easily heard inside the cooler. The building was small but extremely sturdy. It was cement outside, and the cells were lined with metal. Berg unlocked the first cell, and put Louis inside. The cell was small, but Louis considered it spacious compared to that awful hut. There was light because of a small window in the door. Louis was grateful for that. There was no furnishing in the cell. Just for walls and a ground. It was cold, but endurable. Also, it was clean and just smelled of rust. Louis sat down and leaned against the wall tiredly. The last of _Le Marseillaise_ died away with a cheer, and everything went quiet. But it was a peaceful quiet. Louis was not disturbed by anything, and he could finally clear his mind. He thought that finally he would have a restful sleep.

_Tap tap tap._

Louis barely heard the noise; he was so close to falling asleep.

_Tap tap tap._

Again, the Frenchman remained still.

T_ap tap tap._

Louis's eyes flew open. What was that!? He heard it again, and he realized it was coming from the opposite wall. He went over and put his ear against it. Another three taps echoed through. Hesitantly, Louis answered with his own three taps. There was an enthusiastic response in Morse code. Louis concentrated to understand.

_L-U-K-E-F-A-I-R-N-T-H_

Luke! Louis had no idea why the younger man was in the cooler, but he quickly responded by giving his own identity. Luke seemed really excited because he tapped so fast, Louis barely caught on. After they exchanged greetings, Luke attacked Louis with questions about where he had been what had happened, what was going on in camp, and so on. Louis was more than happy to reply, and definitely okay with putting sleep off a little while longer.


	27. End of Freedom

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: E****nd ****of**** F****reedom**

November 8, 1940

Peter was slowly waking up. He felt too rested to actually get up and move on. But once he became fully aware, he sat up and swore. It was dark; the sun completely set. He should have been traveling by now. He pulled out a match, lit it, and looked at his watch. He sighed with relief. It was only 1800. He had only slept for about four hours. Now that he was fully rested, he quickly packed everything up, and started heading further north.

He went down to the base of the mountain, but kept to the woods. He decided he would traverse around the farmlands and towns by staying in the cover of the woods. Hopefully, he would reach the next ridge by morning. Determined, he set on at a quick pace. He was alert, but heard and saw nothing, assuring him that he was the only one out there. That was his greatest mistake. He became _too _comfortable.

Two hours later, and he was passing the outskirts of the first town. It was quiet. Lights were even scarce from homes and businesses. The only noise he could hear came from the opposite end of a street where he spotted a pub. Even there, the noise was dim. Still, the less he heard, the more comfortable he was. He believed he was alone. He believed that he had really made the slip. No one was on his trail.

As he moved on, heading towards the next town, the thought that no one was onto him gave him confidence. And the thought of continuing onto the coast was becoming increasingly more appealing. If there was no one on his trail now, and he continued on the route he had seen on the map, he could probably make it all the way. He would just keep to the woods and only travel at night. He could snitch food when he needed it. He knew where the Nazi outposts were. All he had to do was make sure he went well around them. The more Peter went through those thoughts, the more he truly believed he could make it all the way.

But something stopped him. He had made a deal. If he came back with this information, he would be helping many of his comrades have a far better chance at reaching freedom.

_But if you could do it, they certainly could, _he thought. _Look how easy it was to get yourself this far. They would be able to do it as well._

No. It was bugging him. He would not be able to live with himself if he went on, and never knew if that information would help. He thought about Louis, Luke, Marcel, and Stephen. And then there was Everley and Dean and others he had become close to. What would they think of him if he just left? Coward stuck out to Peter the most.

_What would they think of you if you were dead? They might pity you for a few days, even call you a hero, but you're in a war. They'll move on, and by the time they get out of there, you'll just be a tragedy they might mention some years later. _

Ugh! It was so frustrating! There were pros and cons to both sides. Every time he went through this argument it was harder. And he always thought he made a sound and unwavering decision each time. But no, the further he went on…

In mid-thought, Peter halted. That was it. The further he went on, with each day that passed in this near-freedom lifestyle, the argument became harder to battle. The further he went, the less he wanted to give himself up. He was building his confidence up with each hour his presence went unnoticed. Peter sighed, realizing he had to make a decision now. Go on, and never look back _or_ stop here, and turn himself in.

Peter was going to seriously weigh every pro and con he could think of. He knew this was a decision that would affect him greatly. He knew that what happened here was going to decide much of an already uncertain future.

Well, he was about to begin to think it over, when he suddenly heard the sound of trucks. It was coming from the road he was walking parallel to. He was a good three hundred yards up a hill from it, and could clearly see down on it. On the road, military trucks were stopping. Wehrmacht soldiers got out the trucks, obviously armed for a thorough search of the woods with their flashlights and dogs.

Peter swallowed and on instinct, he ran, not looking back. He was making his decision now.

As he ran through the woods, he could hear the dogs being released. His adrenaline began to pump even more and he ran even faster. He was going at a dead sprint, in the dark through woods that he had never laid eyes on. Peter knew it was a good way to hurt himself, but he wasn't going to stop now. Even though he tripped sometimes, or stumbled, even falling flat into the ground, he always kept running. Then, he came to an abrupt halt when he nearly ran off a steep hill…that would have sent him into an icy river. Breathing heavily, he looked back. Since the dogs had had to run uphill, he seemed to have thwarted them for the moment. Still, he knew it would not be long until they picked up his trail. Peter looked back at the river, and skidded carefully down the hill till he reached the bank. He looked up and down for any crossing. He hurried down the bank some, but could hear the dogs barking. So, he went down further, to where it was most narrow. Then, without a second thought, he jumped in.

He hit feet first, and was relieved to find that the water only came up to his knees in that spot. But it was ice cold, and his legs were already beginning to feel heavy. He persistently moved on though, and it wasn't soon till he found himself halfway across but in waist deep water. He held his bag over his head, to keep everything dry. He wanted out of that water right then; the cold was nearly unbearable. But he pushed on. Suddenly, the ground beneath him dropped a whole foot, and he was shoulder deep in the water. The cold hit him like cement in the chest, and he thought he was suffocating in it. He was able to keep the bag dry, though. Only a few steps later, the ground began to go up, and within another minute, he was at the next bank, stiffly climbing out.

Once he was out, he only wished to lie there, curled up in a little ball, until he was warm. But he knew he couldn't. This was emphasized by two German Shepherds coming into view on the other bank, noses to the ground, obviously on his trail. Peter rolled over, and pushed himself up, to climb up the bank. Just as he ran out of sight, the Wehrmacht soldiers arrived beside their dogs.

Peter ran on, just as blindly as before. He had heard that water confused dogs, and hoped that the crossing had bought him enough time to get out of reach for the night. But he had no intention of stopping anytime soon. He kept running, and just when he thought he was going to slow down, he heard dogs barking. So, he ran faster. Then, he came to a skidding halt. Dead ahead he spotted more soldiers with more dogs. Peter swore, and turned left, and began to run in that direction. But the dogs were closing in, and Peter found himself running more in the direction he had just come from.

Then, he heard shouts indicating that he had been seen. And with that, the finality of the situation struck him. He couldn't run anymore. They would catch him. They had him cornered like a mouse. So, he slowed down, raising his hands up in the air. And when he stopped, despair hit him harder than ever before. Now, he _had_ to go back. Breathing hard, he turned around to face the soldiers. He kept his hands up, even when the dogs came close. They never attacked, but warned him not to move with their growls. Soon, the soldiers caught up, and their flashlights blinded Peter. Roughly, he was thrown on the ground and handcuffed. The bag that Irena had given him was violently ripped off his shoulder. The contents were spilled out onto the ground. The soldiers inspected them. The gloves Rupert had given Peter were also pulled off, as well as the jacket made from his blanket. He was searched thoroughly, and the only thing Peter could smile about was that they could not find his knife, which was in his boot.

Peter was yanked off the ground. One soldier grabbed each arm with an iron solid grip, to ensure that he try nothing. But Peter would not. He had succumbed to the fact that he was going back to camp. They left the woods, and came out onto the road, where trucks were waiting. Peter realized then that they had found his trail, and had come out knowing they would succeed in catching him. These Krauts were just good at that. He was roughly pushed into the back of a truck, where more guards piled in after him. He was made to sit on the floor, his hands still cuffed behind him. But he showed no signs of resistance. Truthfully, he felt more tired than ever, for he had depleted himself on that last desperate run. He had depleted himself physically, mentally, and emotionally. When the truck lurched to a start, he ignored the vicious looks from the soldiers, and their boots annoyingly nudging him. He let himself relax against the wall, and he closed his eyes.

_Damn. I just wanted out_.

***** ***** *****

November 9, 1940

Before even the camp woke up, the truck arrived at camp. The prisoners never saw it, because they were sound asleep. If anyone did, they thought nothing of it. The truck went straight to the cooler, though, and its prisoner was shoved in. The only thing they had done was cuff his hands in front. This at least made it slightly more comfortable.

Peter had not slept at all on the way back, for he had been constantly in thought. He had run. His last decision had been to abandon the mission and make a run for it. Never mind that he had been tracked down. His conscious decision at that point had been to not look back. And even though Peter wished he could have made it, that he had escaped, he was ashamed of that decision he made. Maybe when everyone realized he was back, they would think he really did give himself up. They would think he was brave. But he wasn't. He was still the same ole Peter Newkirk that thought for himself in the end. _His safety. His life. His future._

Peter finally sat down, hoping that at this point, since he was at his final destination again, he might as well get some sleep. He had no doubt it would be easy to do. He was uncomfortable, because his clothes were still wet and since his adrenaline had finally stopped running, he became aware of numerous bruises and scrapes that he had gathered throughout his adventure outside the Stalag. Still, exhaustion was overcoming anything else, so he began to drift off into sleep. But just when he was finally going oblivious to the world, the door busted open, startling him wide awake. He looked up to see that Duerr and Berg had come in. Berg looked passive, and Duerr appeared intensively angry. Peter swallowed nervously.

"So, did you like your little field trip," asked Duerr.

Peter hesitated. "Up until the part when the teachers found me."

Duerr hit the side of the cooler. "Do not play smart with me! You have cost us a lot. The soldiers needed to find you were supposed to be on their way to Africa. Now, they are two days behind schedule."

"Sorry," said Peter unemotionally. "'Ow was I supposed to know you chaps were startin' a new front?"

Duerr ignored the comment. "Where did you get the bag, blanket, gloves and bread?"

"I stole it from some farm on the other side of the ridge," answered Peter, as he began to gaze away from the Major.

"Look at me," ordered Duerr. Peter obediently did, though his face still held no emotion. "What farm?"

"I dunno. The first one I saw when I got over the ridge," said Peter. "I was 'ungry. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Well, we just want to make sure they get it back," said Duerr.

"Sure," said Peter. "Just bein' a good neighbor."

"Right," said Duerr. "Now, how did you escape?"

"Easy," said Peter, this time with a cocky smirk. "We didn't 'ave any guards around us. So, I just 'opped the fence and ran into the woods. I even fooled me ole friend Luke who was workin' wif me. 'E didn't even see me go."

Duerr squinted thoughtfully. "What about your French friend, Corporal LeBeau? Were you supposed to meet up with him?"

"Excuse me," said Peter, looking confused. "I don't know wot you mean."

"Yes, you do," stated Duerr. "Corporal LeBeau escaped the same day as you, as I am sure you planned out."

Inside, Peter began to feel uneasy. How much had Duerr guessed? On the outside, he still showed blank confusion. "Look, Major, I've not a clue wot you're talkin' about. If 'e escaped, great! But I didn't know. I didn't tell anyone I was leavin'. I was afraid that if I did, you goons might get wind o' it."

Duerr paced the cell once, and when he stopped he looked right at Peter. "Listen, I know you two had planned it. And eventually, I will figure out why."

"Why," asked Peter. "You know why. We wanted to escape."

"Yes," said Duerr. "But you were going in two different directions. That is what puzzles me."

"Look, Major, think wot you want," said Peter tiredly. "All we wanted to do was escape. And the way you make it sound, we've both been recaptured." Peter dearly hoped that Louis had not been recaptured.

"You are correct," replied Duerr shortly. "Corporal LeBeau was recaptured the first night out. I am sure he will tell you all about it when you are released."

"Which will be…?"

"Three weeks," said Duerr.

"Three weeks!"

"You are not needed for work, and you need to be punished. Both of your privileges have been revoked until I believe you have learned a lesson."

"Don't worry, I fink I already 'ave," said Peter sheepishly.

"Trust me," said Duerr. "Not yet."

With that, he left the cooler, Berg following. Peter dismally listened to the door being locked, and then everything went silent. Peter had never felt more alone.

Still, what he wanted more than anything at that moment was sleep, so finally, he fell asleep, this time hoping he really did get some peace.


	28. The Pneumonia Comes

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: T****he**** P****neumonia**** C****omes**

November 15, 1940

Louis was released from the cooler as Duerr had promised. Peter was left as promised. And Luke was released a day after Louis just for good measure. Though no one had seen Peter, the assumption was made that he was back. Louis and Luke reported that they had heard noises early one morning, indicating someone was brought in the cooler. But no communication had been made, as Louis and Luke had done, because Peter not in a close cell. Still, everyone was satisfied that he had returned.

Louis was welcomed back into camp society as a hero. Duerr observed this, but only believed that this was because he had tried to escape. Though he had failed, he had made a statement; that much Duerr admitted. Privately, to only Lawrence and Géraud, Louis conveyed what he had seen on the map. This was more than they had expected. Everyone had assumed that Louis had had no success. The two junior officers were put to work on devising some sort of map from Louis told them.

The Frenchman was not sent out to work in town again. Instead, as Duerr had promised, he cleaned. His first job was to clean out the vomit in the Major's car. Berg oversaw this with pleasure. After that job, throughout the following week, Louis cleaned the administrative buildings, the guards' barracks, and the mess hall after each meal. During some days, he had the menial job of digging out latrines in the very deserted eastern side of camp. Overall, though, there was little else to do even when not working. All prisoners had lots privileges to the rec hall; the exception was on Sunday for two hours when a service was held, and then time was given to socialize. Other than that, the prisoners were back to talking to one another through the fence. Some things they had gathered from the Red Cross such as some footballs (1) and rugby balls were taken away. The board games and cards were taken out once again to pass the time they had, which was now reduced to one hour that was squeezed between coming back from work and going to dinner.

For Peter, the first week back was even more numbing. He saw people twice a day: once when the guards brought a meal at noon and the next when they took him outside in the dead of night to use the latrine. The guards barely responded when Peter attempted to make conversation. During the day, Peter entertained himself by practicing magic with a coin and his knife (miraculously still undiscovered) telling himself jokes, brainstorming to make up new ones, and writing stuff on the walls with rocks he picked up outside that made good chalk. He tallied the days on the wall, as well as wrote down names of girls back home and their addresses. He scribbled down his name on the bench, declaring that it was his since he had sat on it more than anyone else in camp. All of this he did was his pathetic excuse for passing time. Though, perhaps it wasn't really all that pathetic seeing as there was little else.

Peter always tried to distract himself from his dishonorable and cowardly decision. But when he did think about it—because there was little else to occupy him—he profoundly regretted his choice. He was endlessly nagged by it whenever his thoughts found their way back to the penetrating guilt he felt. He wished he could confess to someone what he had done. He wished he could just tell them every little felling that was torturing him. Still, the only person he could imagine talking to was over a thousand miles away to the west. He knew that Mavis would always unconditionally love him whether or not she agreed with his ways. She would always be there. On the other side of the spectrum, the last person Peter wanted to face was Louis. Even if everyone in the camp believed Peter really had turned himself in, Peter knew that guilt would eat him alive when he faced Louis. How could he tell him that he had run in the end? How could he tell him and expect anything but disapproval from his peers? And above all, Louis? Peter knew that when he finally must confront his French friend again, guilt would force him to confess what he had done. And how would someone as noble as Louis bear to be able to fraternize with someone as cowardly and conceited as Peter?

However, these thoughts became scarcer towards the end of the first week, when something else began to distract Peter. His health began to decline. He ignored the chills and occasional cough, since he was in the cooler. Then, he began to feel feverish one night. He woke up feeling like he was in an oven. His cough became more severe, and the following day he began to hack up colorful mucous from his chest, sometimes tinged with blood. His chest hurt badly with every cough, and every time he breathed in it was battle to not start coughing again. After the second day, his cough had stolen his voice and taken too much energy from him. He remained lying on the floor during the day usually leaning against the walls, deliriously thinking of home and of warmer days. Even though he could feel his fever escalating, he would still randomly get the chills, sending him into a coughing fit whenever he shuddered.

It was thus that Duerr found Peter a week following his recapture. Duerr had intended to interrogate him further. He came into the cooler, followed by Berg, both taking an authoritative stance once more. But Peter did not acknowledge that they were there. He was asleep in the corner of the cell, and his laborious breathing was easily heard. Immediately, Duerr's stern expression changed to one of intent curiosity. He ordered Berg to wake up the prisoner.

Berg shook Peter awake, and the very action startled Peter, and he immediately started coughing. Berg stepped back quickly, and looked at Duerr. They both realized that the Corporal was ill. Duerr could see the feverish look in Peter's eyes, even through his already bedraggled state. He was filthy and unshaved, having been untouched since returning. Duerr remembered how the Corporal had been wet when he came in, and wondered if that had lent a hand to his sickness.

Eager to find out what afflicted the Corporal and if it was serious, Duerr had Berg fetch the prisoners' medic. While Berg was away, Duerr studied the prisoner before him. Now, he wondered why he had saved the fool. At the time it was to spite the _Sturmbannführer. _Duerr stated to himself that he never really cared for any prisoner. He only cared that they were not entirely mistreated. But Corporal Newkirk, and Corporal LeBeau, had always captured his attention, even on normal days in the camp. When Duerr observed the camp from his office window at times, he often contemplated the prisoners as individuals. Normally, as a whole, they were the enemy. Impersonal beings. But Duerr, when not forced to mask himself into the disciplinarian role, often found himself wondering about the lives the prisoners had when they were not soldiers. Duerr was sure they regarded him the same way: the enemy. But he had a family, old friends, a childhood, old jobs…ultimately a history. Realizing this, Duerr wondered about the prisoners' histories. And whenever he scanned the crowd of prisoners, he always managed to find Corporals Newkirk and LeBeau. That was because when the prisoners were allowed to mingle, if you found one, you found the other. It was something Duerr had noticed from beginning; their willingness towards one another. He had noticed it on the first day when the Frenchman had demanded of Haussler to know where Corporal Newkirk was. Duerr realized that the Corporal LeBeau's actions were an underlying reason for why Duerr had saved the Englishman. He was mystified by the prisoners' pasts. He was mystified that they were here in a camp, so far away from their homes, and that he must regard them impersonally. He was simply curious as to who they were.

Duerr had always been more curious towards the inseparable corporals. They were complete opposites from what Duerr observed. And yet, they worked perfectly together. Duerr knew people like that in his own life. He even believed that the Kommandant and he worked like that. That was why Duerr felt so oddly towards them. They were so real, and not the impersonal and heartless beings propaganda made them out to be.

So, here Duerr was, with Corporal Newkirk at his feet, looking pitiful. By all rights, should Duerr be fulfilling his role, he would have left the Englishman there and reported to the Kommandant. Should anything be done about it, Duerr would hardly be involved. But there was nothing here to force him into any role except for the one he had created for himself: _protector of morality and humanity_. Yes, they were enemies. But no, they were not inhuman, insufferable beasts. Duerr even frowned when he realized that Corporal Newkirk had fallen back asleep.

Berg returned with Staff Sergeant Wilkerson, who quickly went to Peter. Without rousing Peter, Wilkerson felt his forehead and listened to him breathe for a moment. He looked at Duerr.

"I think he might have pneumonia," reported Wilkerson.

"How can you know for sure," asked Duerr.

"His symptoms point to it," replied Wilkerson. "Fever, congested chest, Sergeant Berg said he was coughing. It's more than a wee cold, that's for sure."

"He was very wet when we brought him back," said Duerr. "That would affect him, right?"

Wilkerson appeared furious. "He was wet?! Well, no wonder. If he never got dry and warm, then there's no doubt that he had pneumonia." Wilkerson turned back to Peter and placed two fingers on his neck, palpating his pulse. "Yes, his heartbeat is elevated as well. This has to be pneumonia."

"Pneumonia is contagious," asked Duerr.

"Yes, very," answered Wilkerson shortly. "Airborne as well."

"Can you treat him here," asked Duerr. "If he can be treated."

"The only treatment I can give him is bed rest, warm food, and anything to take care of his cough," answered Wilkerson. "And here would not be the best place to get that."

"Well, I do not want the rest of the camp to catch this," countered Duerr. "I do not need an epidemic. The guards could catch this."

"The guards would be better off at fighting it, though," retorted Wilkerson. He sighed. "With all respect, sir, Corporal Newkirk would have a better chance of survival if he was in another building. I can isolate him in the infirmary. Basically, sir, do want him to have a chance or not?"

Duerr did not respond quickly. Both Wilkerson and Berg watched him curiously though.

"Put him in the infirmary," ordered Duerr shortly. "You are the only one to see him. If he should get worse, let me know. While you treat him, you can see no one else. The other medic will take any other problems. Should anyone else get sick, I must know immediately. Understood?"

"Clearly understood, sir," answered Wilkerson. He saluted as Duerr left the cooler.

Wilkerson went back to the infirmary, and with the French medic, they returned with a stretcher. Berg oversaw them as they hauled the sickly Peter to the infirmary. The going back and forth had attracted attention from the prisoners in the compounds. By the time Peter was leaving the infirmary there was quite a crowd. And when they saw Peter, the crowd became angry quickly. It was the initial belief that Peter had been horrible mistreated. Angry murmurs rose up from all the prisoners, so that Duerr had to put everyone inside. He ordered the officers to meet with him. Lawrence and Géraud came, and Duerr told them what was really going on. Though distressed by the news, there was relief that Peter was not intentionally injured by the Germans. This news was relayed to the prisoners, where the reaction was the same.

***** ***** *****

November 20, 1940

Work on tunnels had come to a standstill since the escape. The officers realized that the blowback might set them back, but they were still intent on completing it. The non-coms backed them up, ready for whatever was next. For now, they were doing nothing more than being prisoners. The daily work routine seemed to become harsher as the weather turned worse in the mid-November days. Snow was more frequent and the nights were nearly sleepless with the temperatures dropping uncomfortably low. And inside the infirmary, Wilkerson and his patient were only somewhat warmer.

Only a day after Peter was placed in the infirmary, the worst fear came. A French prisoner was brought into the infirmary with pneumonia symptoms as well. And what worried the medics the most was that there was no way the Frenchman had caught it from Peter. No, he had gotten on his own. Pneumonia had come to Stalag XXXA.

As ordered, Duerr was immediately notified. Duerr then ordered that every prisoner be checked out by the medics. Work was cancelled for the day. Most prisoners viewed the day as an unscheduled holiday. They were able to rest and catch up on sleep in the warmer hours while the sun was out. They were not allowed outside the barracks, because of Duerr's fear of pneumonia spreading. Most of the men, though, had no idea of the severity of what was coming. Epidemic never crossed their minds. The medics voiced their concern as they visited each barracks. By the end of the day, there was tone of worry in everyone.

This was especially seen when seventeen more prisoners were diagnosed with pneumonia and another thirty-three having some serious colds.

"Are you sure none of them caught it from Corporal Newkirk," Duerr asked Wilkerson at the end of the day. Wilkerson, Lawrence, and Géraud were in Duerr's office discussing the results.

Wilkerson rubbed his nose and eyes tiredly. "Yes, sir. I just cannot see how they could have. None of these men had contact with Corporal Newkirk, even before he escaped."

Duerr nodded. "Well, how do we control it?"

"Frankly, I have no idea other than quarantine," answered Wilkerson. He sniffled. "This has outgrown the infirmary, though. I suggest we shuffle the prisoners around so that the sick are together. Pneumonia in one barracks, colds in another, and recovering in another. Everyone else would need to stay clear of it. My last worry is that we medics will not be able to handle it all by ourselves. We will need assistants, but that will mean some risk for them. They might catch it." This was emphasized when he suddenly coughed. He buried his mouth in his arm, and then looked guiltily at Duerr.

"I can see that," replied Duerr. "I will not be involved in you finding assistants." He looked at the officers. "Your men will be dealing with this. You will sort it out amongst yourselves."

"That is hardly fair," argued Lawrence. "We don't have the means to combat sickness."

"It's true, sir," replied Wilkerson looking at Duerr contemptuously.

"Well," said Duerr. "If there is anything you may need, you can tell me right now and I will do my best to get it for you."

"Antibiotics would be nice," said Wilkerson sarcastically.

Duerr's eyes narrowed. "Please be realistic. I promise that I will do what I can."

"We need practical things," voiced Géraud. "We need blankets—warmer things in general—and rags would be nice as well as more accessible water. The well with one bucket is not good enough. And firewood too. We have stoves but only get to burn our Red Cross boxes, and that hardly does anything. And if anything, could we not at least heat the buildings that the sick will be in?"

Duerr nodded. "That is better. You are dismissed."

The three Allies saluted and left the office.

Duerr sat down at his desk, feeling very overwhelmed. The back door of the room opened and the Kommandant came through.

"I just got off the phone with a Wehrmacht doctor," said the Kommandant. "He says that there is little else that we can do except what the Staff Sergeant suggested."

Duerr nodded. "That is what I feared. Well, I am letting them do it. There is no need for our men to get involved and get sick."

The Kommandant nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, well, this does mean that our camp population is going to get smaller." Duerr looked at him. "There will be deaths. Some men will fight it through, and others will not." He shook his head. "A pathetic way to die as a soldier. Locked away in a prison camp, dying of pneumonia."

"We cannot help them, though," said Duerr. "Not without risking ourselves. And we have already jeopardized our positions because the SS believe we treat them too kindly."

"I am not reprimanding anything you do," said the Kommandant. "But I have secured our positions with the General. The SS, he assures us, have no right or business with their noses in our camp. Should they cause any trouble; General Weiss is only a phone call away."

"So, you are still telling me I should do something more," stated Duerr with a roughish smile to his Kommandant.

The Kommandant responded likewise. "As I said, I am not reprimanding your actions." He turned to leave.

"You can never answer a question straight, can you," asked Duerr.

"I do not enjoy it," answered the Kommandant. Giving Duerr a smile, he left the office.

Duerr, left alone, pondered his options. Showing complete willingness to help the prisoners would surely bring about suspicion from someone, and no matter what the Kommandant said, that was a risk. If someone higher up thought they were not running this camp the right way, this position was gone, and it was off to another combat job. That was the very thing Duerr and the Kommandant were trying to avoid. However, it was not in Duerr's morals to just stand by and watch men drop dead when he did have the ability to help. There were things he could do, and if he got them done the right away, there would be little suspicion from anyone. At least, not enough to do harm.

Decision made, Duerr picked up the phone and began his search for what Wilkerson had ordered.

***** ***** *****

Géraud's plans were put into motion. Once the infirmary was filled, barracks were designated for the sick. It was good that they did, because within a week, another twenty men were sick. Everyone was at a loss of what to do. The medics were being overwhelmed, so that they really did need help from the well prisoners. To try and keep from getting sick, they wore clean strips of cloth around their mouths and noses. It seemed to work well, because less people were getting sick as fast. Still, it seemed that no one was left well. If you were not bedridden with fatigue and coughing, you were still sniffling. Even Wilkerson seemed to be getting it.

The sad thing was that after that first week, a few deaths occurred. Wilkerson had already told the officers that some deaths were imminent; the prisoners' immune systems would be weaker than normal; without antibiotics, some cases would be fatal. This was never spoke n aloud after that, but everyone just knew. It was how the graveyard of the camp was started. Five deaths in two days, and after another three the following day, the officers created a rotating list of men that had the task of burying the dead.

With the pneumonia, a bout of depression fell over the camp. People felt like it was an endless cycle. The weather would not cooperate some days, and the barracks were hardly any shelter. On the coldest days was when the most deaths would occur. Anyone who was close was taken by the cold easily. On the 1st of December, eleven men died. The deaths were hard on morale, because everyone had a close-knit group and nearly everyone was affected by the blow of deaths.

For Peter, he went very low for a few days the first week. Wilkerson warned his friends that he might not make it. They tried to remain optimistic, but it was hard as more people got sick. Still, he appeared to get better, and when he outlasted some who died within a week, Wilkerson thought he should make it. Peter was in and out of sleep, coughing and wheezing, and when he was awake, near delusional out of fatigue. He hardly ate, and lost weight quickly. Everyone went through the same symptoms, just some worse than others.

Around the time when Peter look like he was making a recovery, Luke and Marcel got sick. They were moved into the sick barracks, as Peter was moved into the recovery barracks. At the time, Louis's assignment was the recovery barracks. With the officers' help, he convinced Duerr to let him help in the kitchens to prepare semi-better meals for the sick. It was odd, but right about the time he got the job, better food began to arrive at the camp.

Louis served the food to those in the recovery barracks, and one day he finally got to sit down with Peter. It was the first time they had really seen one another since their escape. It was now December 8, 1940. The death toll in the camp was now forty-five men from an illness that had started on November 20th. Surprisingly to many, Wilkerson had said that it could have been much worse and they were doing better than he had expected.

Louis placed a bowl of warm soup in Peter's hands, and sat down at Peter's feet. Peering into the bowl cautiously, Peter was relieved to recognize the floating chunks as peas and carrots. Not bothering to ask where Louis got the food, the Englishman dove in quickly. It felt good to eat again. Another reason he gorged was that he was trying to stall a talk with Louis. He knew Louis wanted to talk, and he knew Louis would wait patiently until he was through. But Peter was not ready to talk.

"Glad to see you are well enough to eat," said Louis.

Peter took another spoonful. "Thanks," he murmured.

"Luke and Marcel seem to be getting better," said Louis. "It looks like they did not get it 'alf as bad. They must be strong."

"That's good," said Peter as he quickly took another bite. His gaze never left the soup.

"Well 'ow do you feel," asked Louis.

"Better?"

"Better enough to answer with more than one word?"

"I'm 'ungry."

"I understand. You 'ardly ate when you were sick. Fortunately, I think the Major is trying to 'elp us. I cook all the meals for the sick, and better food than usual was delivered to the camp."

"I can see that."

By now, it was obvious to Louis that something was wrong. "Are you okay, Pierre? And I do not mean physically."

Peter shrugged. "Just tired, ya know?"

"That is physical," replied Louis blatantly.

"It can be mental, too," snapped back Peter. Louis winced at the tone and stood up from the bed. Peter immediately felt remorse for his tone. He raised his hand and motioned for Louis to sit back down. He set the bowl down in his lap and looked straight at Louis. "Sorry. I didn't mean to 'urt your feelin's."

"It is okay," said Louis. "When you are tired you are grumpy."

Peter gave a shrug and a weak grin. "So, um, the Major told me you recaptured rather quickly."

"_Oui_,"said Louis. _"Parce que j'ai été tres stupide."_ (2)

Peter nodded. "Wot 'appened?"

"I will not go into much detail," said Louis as images popped into his mind. "But basically I was recaptured by the SS on my first night. I was 'eld in their camp for a day. The man who runs the camp is the same officer who tried to kill you the first day 'ere. But, the plus side was that in 'is office there was a giant map of Poland, so while I was in there, I memorized a bunch of it. I was able to tell _Commandant _Géraud a lot, so now they are making maps. Or they were. A lot was put on 'old with this pneumonia."

Peter nodded understandingly. "Well, I 'ave a lot to tell as well. But I guess it's not the time. I was able to study a map of Poland, Germany, and Scandinavia, an' I actually picked out a nice route where anyone 'as the best chance to get out of 'ere."

"Really," asked Louis. "'Ow did you manage that?"

Peter looked around to make sure there weren't any Germans before he spoke. Even then, he spoke in a low voice. "I ran into some farmers who were willin' to 'elp. I never told them about our mission, so they thought I was just any escapin' prisoner. They showed me the map, and told me about where things were, where it was the most rural…well just about anythin' useful for an escapee."

_"C'est tres magnifique,_" exclaimed Louis. "So when was that?"

"The following' day after I escaped. They live over the ridge line on the north side of the valley," answered Peter.

Louis whistled. "You got very far in one day."

"I didn't stop to sleep," replied Peter. "I figured it would be better to sleep during the day and travel by night."

"Wish I 'ad thought of that," commented Louis bitterly. "Sorry. Go on."

"Don't worry about it, Louis," said Peter assuredly. "If you'd kept goin' you might o' walked straight into that SS camp." He smiled. "Anyway…" he faltered, knowing what was coming up next. "…anyway, that night I decided to see 'ow far I could get in that valley…test the waters so to speak. Well, they 'ad me covered. They've got a method for recapturin' us. Still, if a lot o' us were out there, the odds would be 'igher for some to make it all the way. Leastways, that's wot I fink."

"So, when did you give it up," asked Louis. "Or did they just find you?"

Peter looked at him. "They just found me. They outmaneuvered me; 'ad all me escapes covered."

Louis nodded in understanding. "Like 'ow we got captured in the first place."

"Sure, like that," replied Peter. He sipped his soup more. Though he tried to ignore it, guilt was eating at him. He could say no more, and Louis would think nothing more. But peter felt like he at least owed Louis something. So, he put down his bowl again, and Louis looked at him curiously.

"You okay, Pierre?"

Peter sighed. "Louie…look…I…I wasn't gonna turn meself in. I was gonna go for it."

They stared at one another for a moment. Peter thought that for a split second, Louis looked shocked or hurt. But he masked his expression quickly. Peter looked away, and stirred the soup pointlessly. The silence was awkward for him, so he tried to fill it with a feeble explanation.

"It was too good out there. I felt freer than I 'ad in months, just out there travelin' by meself. An' the more I thought about it, the more I thought I could make it all the way. An' I wanted it so bad. I wanted to go 'ome. I let it get to me. I knew I should come back 'ere. I knew it was the right thing to do because me mates 'ere could benefit from wot I knew. But in the end, I was runnin' for it. If they 'adn't captured me, I would've never come back. It might've bugged me later, but I would've kept goin'. An' that's because in the end, I care more about meself than others. In the end…I guess I'll always save me own skin, an' let others worry about theirs. I…I just wanted to let you know the truth…cause I fink you're a great guy…better than I'll certainly ever be. An' you deserve a better friend. 'Cause I think that if somethin' really 'appened, I might not care to 'elp you. I might save me own skin an' leave you to…defend for yourself. I'm sorry Louis, I—"

Louis finally held up a hand, cutting Peter off.

"I understand."

"Excuse me?"

"Pierre, you do not 'ave to apologize."

"I don't understand."

"Pierre I 'ad 'oped you would runaway! Why would anyone want to come back 'ere?"

"But I 'ad a duty to come back. I'd made a deal. Wif officers, not to mention!"

Louis smiled. "So? Out there, on your own, you could make your own decisions. No one 'ere really cared what we chose to do. Marcel told me afterwards that a lot of people assumed we would escape, because coming back was stupid! Everyone thought that coming back meant you just might get killed later on in this filthy camp. And look what 'as 'appened: you nearly died from pneumonia! My point is that you 'ave nothing to be ashamed of, Pierre. Most men would 'ave made the same decision, myself included. Why, if I 'ad gotten further, I might 'ave decided that there was nothing stopping me and I would not 'ave willingly come back either. Do not be so 'ard on yourself."

"But," began Peter confusingly. "I…I still made that decision. And I feel like the ultimately right thing to do would be to come back. I 'ad all this information, and now that I'm back and I can give it to people, it will 'elp them escape."

"That is called going above and beyond the call of duty," said Louis. "It might get you medal later, but that is only if you survive, right? That kind of decisions are the one where people get themselves branded as noble and foolish. And the foolish part comes from when they are later buried because of their great deed." He smiled, but Peter did not look convinced. "Listen, Pierre. When I was at the SS camp, I saw some things. Right now is not the time or place to talk about it. But the point is, is that I 'ave realized some things. Our duty, 'ere, is to survive. But being in this camp will make that difficult. Especially if things get worse, which I fear they might one day. So, if there was a way to escape, I would take the chance. The odds might be close, but I would feel that doing nothing would only mean imminent death somewhere along the line."

Peter sighed. "I 'ear you. It's just, you—you're one o' me best mates, though I've never told you so. An' I felt like I betrayed you by runnin'. I felt like I betrayed Luke, Stephen, an' Marcel as well. We've been through a lot together, an' thinkin' that I was just leavin' you 'ere, to rot, made me feel more terrible than ever before. I felt like I was betrayin' me Mum again when I got meself in trouble back 'ome. So, to you, I say yes let's work 'ard to survive. But, I want to 'ang onto the 'umanity o' 'avin' friends that won't stab me back, an' people I can always 'ave faith in. Cause without that, I think that means that Jerry really beats us."

Louis smiled slowly. "You should never worry about your actions, again. Because what you just said there, that will make me believe that you will always be there for me."

"I sure 'ope so," said Peter. He smiled awkwardly. "Wot I mean is, I won't leave this camp without you. If you don't get to go, I'm not going. Got it?"

Louis rolled his eyes. "I will talk you out of it if that ever 'appened. But I am not leaving if you cannot go."

They stared at one another and then laughed some. It ended when Peter started coughing. Louis quickly handed him some water. Once the coughing was done, Louis picked up the bowl and stood up.

"I need to get back to work," he said. "You get some sleep."

"Okay, okay…Mum," answered Peter, sounding annoyed. He lay down with the covers pulled up. It was getting dark outside, which meant the guards would come in to count the prisoners, and then shut the barracks up for the night. "You get some rest too, Louie. I don't want to 'ear o' you gettin' sick cause you were workin' too 'ard."

Louis ignored him and walked away. Peter smiled to himself as he closed his eyes. He felt a little better now.

* * *

(1) meaning soccer balls (for any Americans)

(2)Translation: I was very stupid.


	29. Carol of the Bells

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: C****arol ****of the B****ells**

December 15, 1940

On this day, Wilkerson declared his last patient well. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. There were a few sniffles here and there, but it was safe to say that the epidemic had ended. Though it was hardly shown by the exhausted men, everyone was glad. Those not sick had been taking care of those who were. That had been a physically and mentally demanding job, especially when deaths occurred. A total of fifty-three lives had been taken by the pneumonia, including one guard. The camp's morale was low despite having beaten away the sickness. Those who had been ill were still rather weak. Duerr kept the better food coming, though sometimes there were shortages and cut backs had to be made. Still, everyone was grateful for what they had.

On the east side of camp, what had been a vast, empty field, was now occupied with marked graves. Wooden crosses, spotted with a few stars, stood over the fallen soldiers. Each had been given a proper burial as best as the prisoners could manage. The officers had respectfully written a letter to each man's family as well.

The guards felt the prisoners' weariness, and it seemed that the entire camp was at a standstill. Day in and day out, everyone went through the day aimlessly. There were no work details, no work being done on tunnels, guards were passive, and Duerr pushed no one around for example. Everyone appeared to agree that enough--intentionally or unintentionally--had been done to stop any mischief. Everyone was tired and wanted the rest. The weather was cooperating for the most part as well. Nights were still freezing, but there was little snow.

A few days later, Peter finally sat down with the officers and explained everything about his excursion. He told in detail everything he had seen on the map. The information was nearly overwhelming, but for some days after that, Peter sat down with O'Neill to draw out a map. It was later hidden in the officers' barracks for later use. Peter and Louis had to repeatedly tell their stories to their fellow inmates. Louis had a more difficult time, but eventually everyone knew what he had seen and endured. From Peter's story, everyone was jealous of the gorgeous days he spent outside and the home cooked meal he had gotten from an equally gorgeous young woman. Peter denied having any motives toward the girl, saying that he had been there strictly on business. Still, everyone fantasized meeting here when they got to escape. Lawrence reminded them all that that would only endanger their chances of getting away.

"Truthfully," said Everley in reply. "After all this, if I met a bird that was pretty an' nice, I'd just learn Polish an' stick around 'ere."

"Polish," said Dean. "You can hardly speak English correctly."

On the 18th, Duerr gave the prisoners back an official hour of recreation where the prisoners integrate themselves. However, the rec hall was not opened again. Still, ground was covered by the officers who got together to go over the information that Louis and Peter had brought back. Plans needed to be altered as well, since the pneumonia had definitely set back things. There would be no Christmas escape as originally planned. However, they agreed that the recreation hall would be the main point of escape. Top priority was given to the tunnel under the hall. Now, they had to wait for Duerr to re-open it.

While able to mingle, Peter and Louis got together again with Stephen, Luke, and Marcel. They talked about the past couple of weeks.

"It sure has been rough," said Stephen. "I'm just glad you all made it through. I wouldn't have like tae be spending the rest o' me days here wit just ole Louie here."

Of the five, Louis and Stephen were the only ones who did not catch pneumonia. Instead, Louis had been cooking for everyone sick, and Stephen had spent most of his time burying the dead. His humor had dulled some by now, though he tried to poke fun every now and then. Everyone was trying to get back into the way things had been before. Still, there were holes in the groups of men where someone had passed away, and it was hard to get over.

"Oh, you would've made it," teased Peter over Louis's head. "You would've had great meals for the rest of the duration."

"Hey, Peter, can you kick the football around with me," asked Luke, as if the conversation they were having never existed.

"I guess," said Peter. He got up from the crate he had been sitting on. Luke jogged off across the compound some, set the ball down, and kicked it over to Peter. Unexpectedly, Louis jumped in front of him and stole the ball.

"Oi," said Peter. "Wot was that for?"

"I can do more than cook," said Louis defiantly. He picked up the ball. "'Ow about rugby?"

"Remember, you asked for it," said Peter as he jumped for Louis.

Being smaller, Louis dodged Peter easily, and tossed the ball to Marcel. Marcel caught it, only to have it stolen by Stephen. Stephen smiled triumphantly until he was tackled by Luke. Peter, Louis and Marcel were doubled over with laughter as they looked down at Luke and Stephen sprawled on the ground.

"You scrawnay kid," teased Stephen to Luke. "You're a Brit. You're supposed tae be on _my_ side."

"I was just having some fun," argued Luke. He quickly got up and picked up the ball again. Peter pushed Louis away to distance himself as Luke threw the ball to him. He had to jump up to grab it, and no sooner had he touched the ground did he get hit full force by Marcel. Hitting the ground hard, the football was abandoned as Peter and Marcel rolled up into a wrestling match. Their smiles were visible, though, so no one was worried that it was a real fight. Still, they had to break it up when Stephen spotted some guards moving in. When they got up, the guards left them alone, and the friends went back to talking while Luke and Peter passed the football.

"You know," started Luke.

"Wot do I know," interrupted Peter.

"We should do something for Christmas."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Like wot? We don't exactly 'ave all the privileges anymore."

"We could come up with something," argued Luke.

"You can," said Peter. "I think I'll just take a step back an' watch the proceedin's. I'm tired."

"How can you be tired," asked Luke. "You've been in a bed for the past two weeks."

Peter pegged the ball at Luke playfully. Luke caught it in his chest, and put it back on the ground.

"Well then, _I'll_ come up with something," said Luke.

"Look, matay," said Stephen. "It's likelay that nothin' special is goin' tae happen this Christmas. We're in prison, right? Besides, we don't have anay time, and the Major won't be lettin' us do anythin' for awhile."

Luke pouted, but continued to pass the ball.

Well, the following day, it appeared that Luke was losing the battle. The weather turned horrendous. A blizzard came through overnight, and it was so bad on the 19th and 20th, that roll call was cancelled both days. Everyone was ordered to remain inside. The guards came around and counted every man in his barracks. The wind howled for two days and two nights, and shook the barracks; some were sure the measly structures would collapse. Hardly any of the prisoners got real sleep because it was so cold. Most men were huddle with blankets on their bunks, usually packed in next to one another for more warmth. The stoves could barely keep a few men warm, much less every man in the barracks.

Luke got the ingenious idea of spreading the warmth by making little fires in the water buckets. The men took the buckets back to their bunks and two or three would huddle around it to keep warm. On any other day, it would have been considered a fire hazard. But when they guards saw it, they ignored it. It wasn't soon until the guards were employing the same method to keep warm in their barracks. The only good thing that anyone could think of that came from the storm was that good progress was made on the tunnel from the infirmary. Since the guards were never around, it was easy to get to work.

On the 21st, everyone was glad to wake up to a bright, sunny day. The snow had stopped falling, and the clouds were gone. It was still cold, but there was no wind. This meant roll call outside. However, everyone found that opening the doors was out of the question. A three foot snow bank lay outside. The prisoners left their barracks through the windows. This, of course, took more time to get everyone lined up. Too many people were having fun jumping out of the windows into the snow. Once order was gotten, roll call took place. Duerr announced that they would be going back to work on fixing the damage that the storm had caused.

Around camp, many fences were damaged from the harsh wind. Two guard towers had toppled over, as well. Fortunately, no one had been inside them at the time. Also, the snow banks needed to be shoveled away from all the structures. There was work outside of camp, too. The roads were in bad shape, and the town had damage. So, some work details were sent out. Peter and Louis were surprised to be among those leaving camp. However, Duerr was not separating them. Louis was stuck with Peter's barracks, which was taken to the town church. The townspeople were in shambles because a large portion of the church's roof had collapsed. With Christmas services only a few days away, they pleaded that the church be fixed. So, Barracke 14, plus Louis, found themselves suddenly become roofers.

Since so much of the roof had collapsed, they were ordered to strip the rest, and put on a completely new roof. The work was tedious and hard, especially in the cold. But, they were fed well and the sun was out each day. They ended up working from nearly dawn to dusk, even on Christmas Eve. Once the roof was finished, they had to repair the inside of the church that had been damaged.

While they worked, they were privy to music. A boy was there nearly as much as they were, on the piano, which was untouched. He sat there, alone, always practicing his Christmas tunes. When the prisoners inquired about it, he shyly told them that he had to perform at Christmas Mass. On the first day, he was shaky at the songs. The only one he had down pack was _O Come, O Come Emmanuel_. The one that gave him the most trouble was _Carol of the Bells_. Still, the prisoners were happy to listen to all his tunes including _Silent Night, Ave Maria, O Come All Ye Faithful, _and _Joy to the World._ The prisoners even took to singing some a few times, when the boy had the song down. The boy enjoyed their presence. However, the guards did not appreciate them singing all the time. And the priest, who always watched their work, was passive. He would sometimes help the boy get around a tricky part, but mostly he watched.

The one song that seemed to stump the boy the most was _Carol of the Bells. _He would get to a part and stumble over it repeatedly. But he worked at it constantly. Whenever he accomplished something, the prisoners would give a cheer. One time, he listened to Peter and Everley whistle the entire tune while they nailed down new shingles. Then, he went right into the song and smoothly played the first half. This egged on other prisoners to whistle spots for him so that he could hear it before playing it. This appeared to help.

By Christmas Eve, as the prisoners cleaned up the inside of the church, the boy had mastered all his songs. At the end, he played every one of them through, as the prisoners sat in the pews and listened appreciatively. When he played _Carol of the Bells_ as his finale, they cheered exuberantly. The boy and priest laughed, but the guards then quickly lined up the prisoners to go back to camp. Still, as they marched, they kept singing or whistling the Christmas tunes. Even the guards could not help but smile sometimes.

But when Everley put his own words to _The Twelve Days of Christmas,_ which had underlying tone of beating the Nazis, they were made to stop.

Whatever their mood may have been at the church, the mood of the camp was still low. It was Christmas Eve, and the first time that most of the men had spent Christmas away from home and family. There were nostalgic feelings all around, and everyone went through dinner and to bed quietly, mostly thinking of past Christmases. No one expected to wake up to anything tomorrow, except another day at Stalag XXXA.

***** ***** *****

Christmas Day, 1940

Luke rolled over and his eyes were struck by light coming from the window. He gave a slight groan, realizing that the guards must have opened up the shutters because it was time to get up. So, he sat up blearily. Out of habit, he looked at his watch. His heart stopped. It was nine o'clock in the morning! Looking around him, he saw that everyone was still asleep, snoring loudly, and oblivious to the fact that they were sleeping in. Luke smiled, and lay back against the wall, relishing in how well-rested he felt. Then, something caught his eye. There was a parcel at the foot of his bunk. He quickly reached over and snatched it up. He was surprised at its size and weight, but quickly tore it open. He gaped when he pulled out a brand new jacket specifically made for cold weather. He pulled it all the way out and his jaw dropped even further when he saw it was full-length, and made by the British Army. He set it aside carefully, and then looked inside the parcel to find two pairs of wool socks, a pair of gloves, and a scarf, all British Army manufactured.

Luke rolled over the side of the bunk and looked below him to the middle bunk where Peter slept. The man—as expected—was sound asleep. But Luke was too excited to care.

"Peter! Wake up! You're not going to believe it! We've got presents!"

Peter sat up so quickly he slammed his head into the bottom of Luke's bed. He groaned and rubbed his head wearily. "Cor blimey, Luke! Why are you shoutin'?"

"We have presents!"

"You're dreamin'."

"No. Look!" Luke picked up the parcel that was at the foot of Peter's bed, and tossed it into his lap. Peter looked down at it for a moment and then tore into it. He wore the same expression Luke had when he pulled out a full-length RAF winter jacket, two pairs of wool socks, a pair of gloves, and a scarf as well; this time all manufactured by the RAF.

By this time, Luke had woken up the rest of the barracks, and everyone was gasping at the sight of winter clothes. Everyone had received a winter jacket made by their respective branch in the military, along with the wool socks, gloves, and scarves. Luke never forgot to announce that they had slept in as well. A few minutes later, they noticed that some prisoners had gone outside. As if they were at home, everyone quickly got dressed and joined their friends outside for Christmas morning. They were all strutting around in their new jackets. There were a lot of handshakes and some hugs as people wished one another a Merry Christmas. Even the guards were in good spirits. Berg allowed a few snowballs to hit him without retaliating. At the fence that separated the French and British, a crowd had formed. The French had received the same gifts too. There was joyous camaraderie in the air.

Eventually, roll call had to be done. No one really complained as they lined up in their new outfits. When Major Duerr came outside the officers called everyone to attention. If anything, out of gratitude to the man they were sure had provided them with the gifts. Duerr, who was usually stoic, gave a small smile.

"All prisoners present or accounted for, _Herr Major_," reported Berg.

"I hope you all enjoyed your time to sleep in this morning," said Duerr to the prisoners. "I will tell you now that it will not happen often."

"We'll take it whenever you feel up to it, sir," cried Everley from within the ranks. The men chuckled, and even Duerr could not suppress a smile.

"I will keep that in mind, Corporal Blackwell," replied Duerr. The men laughed harder at Everley's astonished expression. He had thought the Major could not see him. "Anyway, your gifts are from the Red Cross, so I took the liberty of delivering them to you so that we need not fight the confusion of who gets what. If you take care of them, they should last you long. You will most likely not be receiving anything like that again. Also, there is no work today." He paused while another cheer rose up. "And there will not be until after the New Year." A more raucous cheer followed that statement. "So, get your rest while you can. You will have only one meal today, and that is because all our resources are going to a nice dinner tonight. This was not planned until the town's congregation arrived this morning with chickens. They gave them out of thanks for all the work done in town. So, everyone will be getting chicken tonight." This brought out the loudest celebration so far. When it settled down, Duerr continued. "So, Merry Christmas. I hope you have a good day."

The gate in the fence that separated the British and French was opened up to allow them to integrate. Peter, Luke, and Stephen found Louis and Marcel quickly. They spent the whole day together. Mostly, everyone played games. Some guys sung Christmas carols. Even the officers got involved some times. The guards watched, but not for mischief. If a guard got hit, he would usually throw a snowball back. Everley bothered Berg so much, that eventually Berg hit him three times in a row with snowballs, catching Everley completely by surprise. Everyone laughed at the shocked Corporal. Berg was pleased with himself. Still, the guard and prisoner had an ongoing battle the entire day.

Finally, dinner was served, and somehow, all the prisoners fit into the mess hall for their chicken, which was accompanied by some recognizable vegetables and mashed potatoes. They even had milk. Everyone savored it all, knowing it could be another year before they saw it again.

After dinner, Duerr opened the rec hall when the camp chaplain requested that a service be held. It was not mandatory, and since there was still daylight, those who had no interest were allowed to wander around the camp as they wished. Peter had no interest, but his friends forced him to come. He stayed in the back, though, leaning up against the wall next to the door. But halfway thru the service, he left.

It was getting to be dusk, but mostly everyone was inside the rec hall. The compound was even sparse of guards. Peter found a bench outside one of the barracks and pulled out the letter from Mavis that had come in September. It was worn, but it had never left his breast pocket. Every once and awhile he would take it out and re-read it. He could envision her talking to him while they walked through the park, and hear her light voice. He scanned through the letter again.

_I know you don't care much for religion and all that, but it can't do you any harm to just pray a little. I mean, you've made it this far, haven't you?_

Peter frowned.

"You okay, _mon ami_?"

Peter looked up. Louis was standing in front of him. The Frenchman came and sat down beside Peter, as he folded up the letter and put it back in his pocket.

"Yea. Just thinkin'."

"About 'ome?"

"Yea."

"_Oui_. _Je sais_. I miss it so much. Especially now, when we would be celebrating this day together. We would be having a great family dinner. It would be the best food ever tasted."

"Yea," said Peter wistfully. "We would usually go out to eat, just because that was always a treat. Mum wouldn't 'ave to cook, or clean, or anythin' like that. So, we'd get dressed in our nicest clothes an' go to a better restaurant than usual." He smiled. "But mornin's were best. We'd wake up an' Mum would already 'ave a nice big breakfast ready. I dunno 'ow she always did that…but we'd 'ave a wonderful breakfast, an' then we'd leave the dishes. We'd just leave them on the table, an' Mavis an' I would wash them on Boxin' Day. But we'd leave the dishes on the table, an' then go sit down an' exchange gifts. Even though it was never much, it always meant somethin'. It just meant somethin' that we'd still buy gifts for each other. The last Christmas we all 'ad together, I bought them both dresses I'd seen them eyein'. I saved up me money for just that occasion. It was the best Christmas present I'd ever been able to get them. An' they loved it. They wore their dresses to dinner that night, an' I was so 'appy for them."

"What did they get you," asked Louis.

Peter smiled. "Mum got me a watch. It was this silver watch, an' it was one of the grandest things I've ever 'ad. Fortunately, I would never wear it while I was workin'. So, it got back to me sister when I was shot down." Then, he chuckled. "An' Mavis, she got me a fairy tale book. You see, when we were younger, I used to make up fairy tales an' tell them to 'er before bed. So, she bought me that book I guess in remembrance o' that. I told 'er I'd keep it for me own little ones if I ever settled down." He looked at Louis. "Wot about you?"

"I 'ave too many sisters to tell all about presents," replied Louis. "Mostly, though, I just loved spending time with my family. Presents, Christmas carols, the whole town gathered at church. Sometimes we went into Paris in the afternoon to see more family. But I always just enjoyed being with everyone. And the traditions, as well. On Christmas Eve, _mon grand-père _would sit next to the fire, and the whole family would gather around 'im while 'e read the second chapter of the Book of Luke, telling us the story of the birth of Jesus. Afterwards, we sang _Silent Night_." He leaned back against the barracks, and looked up at the sky, as if he was seeing something else.

Peter followed his gaze. The sun was now almost gone, so some starts were visible.

"You think we'll see Christmas again with our families, Louie," asked Peter.

"Of course I do," answered Louis. "That is one of the things I am fighting to survive for. Christmas time again."


	30. An Interlude

**Author's Note: **Sorry this chapter is so short. I've been pressed for time, lately. Anyway, it is exactly what they title says, so it's a lighter chapter anyway. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty: A****n**** I****nterlude **

January 1, 1941

Duerr had not planned on letting the prisoners sleep in on New Year's Day. Of course, he had not realized that they would actually stay up till midnight and have a small celebration when the New Year came around. It had been perfectly quiet in the camp, and then around ten till, the barracks came to life. The prisoners had opened their windows and doors. The guards had been worried at first, but when they saw that the prisoners were doing nothing but sitting around, they let them be. Still, no one had been allowed out of their barracks so late at night. When all of this had happened, Berg had woken Duerr up to let him know. So, Duerr and the Kommandant had watched from the office window.

The prisoners must have synchronized their watches because they got more talkative on the dot as the last minute came. And when it came to be midnight, the all cheered as one. They beat on the doors and walls to make as much noise as possible. "Happy New Year!" and "Bonne Année!" bounced around camp, and eventually above the din of cheers, "Glückliches Neujahr!"could be heard. Smiles were contagious. So, in light of the mood, and because Duerr's own guards had been up late, he let things slide on New Year's Day. Everyone got to sleep in.

But there were no special dinners this time, so everyone was back on the normal meal plan: watery soup with unrecognizable chunks floating in the tinted liquid. Though nothing exemplary, food was food. Even a week after the amazing Christmas Day meal, it already felt like a millennia ago. Like a dream.

As Duerr had promised, it was back to work the following day. The same work details were drawn up, as well as stricter regulations for guards. If a prisoner was outside camp, they had to be with a guard. So, this time, when Peter and Luke were sent back out to clean the pigpen, Berg was standing outside the fence, watching them alertly. The guard in charge of the French compound was sent to personally watch Louis. The guard sat by the cleaning cupboard the entire day, watching Louis's every move. Needless to say, Duerr was not taking any chances.

Still, this hardly bothered anyone. Peter and Louis had completed their mission, so the next step could go on. Serious work on the tunnels was underway again. With the work details back up, Duerr reopened the rec hall. Recreation period lasted only an hour, though. The officers did not push it. They understood that one hour would have to be it. A maximum effort was put into it, though. The tunnel was being expanded daily. The guards were still alert, but the work continued uninterrupted. Slowly, the men began to build up their confidence.

But not enough confidence. After the tragic pneumonia epidemic, and the winter even colder now in January, the officers decided that something needed to be done to give another boost to the men's morale. Something they could all work on and enjoy, besides the escape. They wanted something that was closer to look forward to and guaranteed to be a success. They took Peter's suggestion from two months earlier, and proposed to Duerr that they have a talent show for the men to put on. Duerr conceded, and when the word was put out about the show that would take place on the night of January 30th, everyone got excited.

"Let's do something together," Louis told Peter the day after the show was announced. They were in the rec hall, underneath the stage, tailoring civilian clothes from blankets and other cloth that had been gathered.

"Okay," said Peter. "Like wot? Sing, a skit…"

"A skit," said Louis. "A comedy skit. Something to make people laugh."

"Alright," said Peter. "Sounds good. Any ideas?"

"No," said Louis. "Not right now. But we 'ave nearly a month. That should be enough time to come up with something."

"And," said Peter. "We're stuck down 'ere every day, so that should be enough to work on it together."

There was a thump from above, and they heard Luke's voice. "Time to go chaps. Roll call in ten minutes." Peter and Louis alerted the diggers, and they left.

Everyday, they did exactly as they planned. Underneath the stage, while they sewed, they bounced ideas off one another about a comedy sketch they should do. They came up with two ideas they loved, but they only had time for one. So, they picked each one apart and schemed some more. After they decided which one they should do, they practiced lines the entire hour and would change it up as they went along, just to play around. Whatever happened, they only wanted to make their comrades laugh. As long as everyone enjoyed themselves, it was a success.

Finally, the night came. There were a string of acts: singing, magic tricks, little skits, acrobats. It became obvious how much the prisoners were capable of outside being a soldier. A little bit of everyone's past came out as well. Or rather, a little bit of everyone's playful side came out. Duerr let the prisoners have a record player for the evening as well, and supplied some records too. They had only a few from the Red Cross. From these, people danced or sung along. Everley and Dean actually made a skit from one of the records and it was by far one of the most successful acts of the night.

With the musical composition, _Ride of the Valkyries_,Everley and Dean presented a comical version of Germany's history. With Germans actually present at the show, including Duerr and the Kommandant—which was a surprise—the men made sure that there were moments of righteousness for the Germans. But there were also parts, which were just hilarious because of the two men's acting. These made everyone laugh. Even Duerr and the Kommandant were stifling some chuckles. The ridiculousness of the performance was, by far, the reason for its success. However, the objective had been accomplished: laughter.

Only two acts later, Peter and Louis took the stage. Since they had not any real time to act it out in practice, they knew there was going to be some improvising. Regardless, they were looking forward to it.

Louis was on stage, alone at first. He was dressed in uniform meant to portray him as a police officer. The table he sat at was obviously his desk as he sat down pretending to fill out some papers. Then, Peter entered as a civilian.

Louis looked up. "Hello sir. How can I help you?" The audience smiled when they heard his very forced British accent. Peter stifled laughter. The accent wasn't bad, but they had not planned that.

Peter smiled. "I'm just going to go visit with someone. The cell number is 24, I believe."

"Didn't know you were ever out of prison, mate," called someone from the audience playfully. Peter gave the audience a sly smile before going on. The audience had been teasing everyone when they first went up, so Peter was not intimidated. He knew no one was trying to be mean.

"Okay," said Louis, in character. He pulled out a ledger. "For security purposes, I will need your name."

"Yes," said Peter. "It is Derrick—" he took out a lighter and dropped it on the table. It made a clattering sound as it hit. He then looked at Louis as if all was in order. A few men in the audience chuckled.

"Excuse me," asked Louis, obviously confused. "Can I hear that again?"

"Sorry," said Peter. He picked up the cigarette lighter. "My name is Derrick—" he dropped the lighter on the table again, let it clatter, and looked back up at Louis. More people laughed this time.

Louis stood up. "That's your name?"

"Yes."

"Well," said Louis. He picked up the cigarette lighter. "You have a very unusual name Mr.—" he dropped the lighter. There were some uncontrollable giggles now.

Peter sighed, looking annoyed. "If I had a pound every time someone told me that…"

"I'm sure you would be a rich man," finished Louis, looking rather annoyed. He picked up the lighter. "Well, how do you spell—" he dropped it again.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Just how it sounds, _officer_."

The audience laughed again.

Louis picked up the lighter, his face twisted in annoyance. "I'm not so sure how to spell—" the lighter hit the table again. The audience chuckled again.

"Oh, for God's sake, man," said Peter. "Here you are, a distinguished law officer, and you can't even spell?"

"You can't go through that door without your name in this book," retorted Louis sternly.

"Fine," said Peter. "Well, you know how to spell Derrick, right?"

"Of course," said Louis. "I just don't know how to spell—" the lighter clattered on the table again.

"Yes, yes, alright," said Peter. He took a breath. "It's N. I. P. P. L. Hyphen. E."

The room exploded with laughter, especially at the serious expressions on each man's face. Louis looked completely astounded, and Peter looked like situation normal.

"Nipple," repeated Louis.

"I beg your pardon," said Peter. He glanced around. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"That's your last name—nipple?"

"No," said Peter. "It's not spelled like nipple."

"Oh, really," said Louis. "Let me read it out to you."

"Ok."

"N. I. P P. L. E."

"No, its hyphen…E," retorted Peter quickly and with annoyance.

Louis sighed. "Fine. I need your address and then you can go."

"Good," said Peter. "It's twenty-two—" he did a quick tap dance with his feet and slapped Louis on the cheek. "—Frederick Road."

The room erupted with laughter. Louis was once again giving Peter a dumbfounded look.

"What the hell was that?"

"What?"

"Do you know the consequence for assaulting an officer?"

"I'm sure it's quite terrible. But I have no idea what you're talking about. How does that have anything to do with me giving you my address?"

"Well, I dunno," said Louis sarcastically. "Let me repeat it just to make sure I got it right. Your address is twenty-two—" he repeated the quick tap dance and then punched Peter in the face "—Frederick Road?"

Peter stumbled back as the audience cracked up. He looked at them with an angry expression while rubbing his jaw.

"Now, hold on. What are you playing at? That was _not_ my address. I said: twenty-two—" the tap dance and slap "—Frederick Road."

Louis hardly flinched. "Fine, fine." He quickly wrote something down in the ledger. Then, he studied it. "You know, from some angles it looks like: twenty-two—" he pulled out a plank of wood and struck Peter across the face. Peter fell back dramatically and lay sprawled out on the ground. Louis looked over the desk and down at him. "Yes, yes. I like that version much better." He then sat back down at his desk and went back to work.

The audience laughed and then applauded when Peter and Louis stood up and bowed and then walked off. When they were offstage, they shook hands.

"Good show, mate," said Peter.

"You too, chum," answered Louis in his best British accent.

Peter patted his cheek. "Let me handle the accents from now on, _mon ami_."

They both laughed and went back down into the audience to enjoy the rest of the show.

At the end, Lawrence came out to announce the winners. The officers were the judges. Everyone cheered for Torben Arcenau who won third for his Charlie Chaplin routines. Peter and Louis won second with Everley and Dean winning overall. All they received was some spare chocolate, but the sport of it all was fun. No one really cared about the winnings. It was just a fun night.

The following day, Peter decided not to wait for a letter, but started to write home. These past couple of months had definitely given him something to write home about now. He was sure Mavis would want to hear about it all. Of course, he could not tell her _everything_, but if she heard that he wasn't completely bored out of his skull, that would somewhat appease her worried sentiments.

The next day, Marcel was talking to Louis on their way to work in Bielski.

"You two were great," he said, talking about their skit. "It's odd, how well you two work together. You're nearly complete opposites."

Louis smiled. "Sort of makes the best kinds of friendships, I think. You get surprises every now and then. Makes life interesting."

Marcel shook his head. "I'm just glad we have people like you around to cheer us up every now and then."

Louis sighed. "If we had shows every night, I wouldn't mind staying here so much. But, seeing as that isn't going to happen, I hope we get this escape tunnel done quick.

* * *

So, some you might have recognized Peter and Louis's skit, because I am definitely not creative enough to make up my own. If you do, I'd like to hear it in the review. I just don't want to give it away. I will say, though, that it was from British comedy. So any Americans might not place it.


	31. The Light in Things

**Chapter Thirty-One: T****he**** L****ight i****n**** T****hings**

February 6, 1941

"Nice of you to join us," Peter told Louis on the Jakowitz farm. "You were probably gettin' soft from workin' in town."

"'Ardly," replied Louis with a scowl. "Working in the kitchens is 'arder than you think."

"Yea, yea," said Peter. "You've told me that more than I can count."

Though January and December had been harsh with the weather, February began showing signs of warmth early on. So, Farmer Jakowitz declared he would start planting his crops again. This meant he needed more prisoners for work. Duerr pulled out the men in Bielski who had originally been working on the Jakowitz farm. Now, Louis, Marcel and their barracks mates were working once again with the British from Barracke 14. The weather was still nippy, especially in the morning, but by midday, the men had stripped off their winter jackets and sometimes their battledress jackets as well. It was an early spring, and some men had wished it had come later.

"Even though it was freezin' out 'ere, it sure is better than slavin' away in these fields for eternity," complained Everley one day. Most people shared his sentiments. For nearly two weeks they were sowing seeds out in the fields. It was break-backing work. They had to first dig the countless rows, and then go around placing seeds in each little mound. Jakowitz patrolled the fields with the guards, ensuring that every step was done correctly. No seed could be placed too deep or too shallow. He raved about how deep the trenches were. Most men got angrier with him than they did the guards. At least the guards were not picking at every detail.

Jakowitz used to have his machines to do the job, so that it did not require so many men, time, or tedious work. However, the machines had been taken away so that the metal could be turned into war machines. Still, Jakowitz was glad that he could harvest food to sell to the Germans. It was a profit he had no choice but to take.

The planting fields were not the only place prisoners worked. Stephen still commanded men with the sheep and cattle. Jakowitz appeared to have become comfortable with Stephen taking charge of the flock and herd. The Scot had apparently proven that he knew what he was doing. So, Jakowitz spent most of his day out in the fields overseeing the planting, or around the animals in the barn where a few other prisoners worked.

February passed without incident. Work on the tunnels seemed painstakingly slow, but as long as progress kept coming, the men were satisfied. The increased work that was taking place on all the farms was keeping everyone preoccupied. And less people complained about spring at night; now it was easier to get to sleep. February, though, was long and quiet. Routine was routine, and it was hardly broken by anything. The only thing to write home about was that a guard tipped the alarm when he tried sneaking out to go into town to see a girl. Duerr had him making rounds for twenty-four hours, and then he took up his regular daytime post. It appeared that Duerr was as good at disciplining his own men as he was the prisoners.

March came and no sooner did the first day go by, and things started happening. During rec hour, the SS came to camp. It was only Major Jöchmann. However, his presence was enough to stir up the ranks. Only seconds after a prisoner spotted him, the work on the tunnels ceased for the day. The officers were not taking any chance with the SS in camp. All men in the rec hall were able to be seen by the guards. No one was under the stage, underground, or even behind the curtains having secret conversations. A man was sent to the infirmary to have the work on that tunnel stopped as well.

Everyone was worried; and rightly so. Louis's horror stories had been around camp, and everyone knew that Peter had nearly been killed by Jöchmann just to be an example. So, everyone was on guard, and all illegal activity ceased. Jöchmann did not even acknowledge the prisoners' existence when he arrived, though. He went straight to the administrative buildings, and entered Duerr's office without even a knock.

"That's not going to be well-received," said Lawrence as he observed.

Many prisoners, as they went about their recreation hour, watched the office curiously, wondering what went on inside. Peter, Louis, Luke, Stephen, and Marcel were sitting on the French side of camp, watching from a safe distance. Louis did not want Peter to be seen by Jöchmann, and _he_ definitely did not want to be seen by Jöchmann. Their friends readily agreed, so they decided to keep a low profile for the hour.

"'E is a very strange man," said Louis. "'E 'as creepy eyes, and seems to find pleasure when 'e must punish people."

"I've a feeling that's an understatement," commented Stephen.

"'E is more like a monster," observed Marcel.

"Agreed," said Luke.

"A ruddy nightmare," said Peter at least. "And I 'aven't even laid eyes on the chap yet."

"Well," said Stephen. "Maybe it's better that ye not. That way he never runs intae ye."

Only seconds later, the guards were ordering a roll call and that rec hour was over.

"Sergeant that is against regulations," Géraud was telling Berg as he announced it. "We are entitled to one hour of recreation by the Geneva Conventions."

"Today is different," was all Berg said in argument. Then, he continued to round up all the British you were on the French side. Peter, Luke, and Stephen reluctantly left. When the entire camp was in formation, Duerr stepped out with Jöchmann at his side. The SS Major seemed to be enjoying himself while Duerr looked absolutely livid. Still, they were both composed as they came to stand in front of the ranks.

Peter was glad he was not in the front row. Louis was right, the man was a creep. His look just gave Peter the chills. He just stood there for a long time, looking over them all, as if inspecting how well they stood in place.

"Major," said Duerr impatiently. "You are taking up time. Let us move to the next compound so that you can leave. Dinner needs to be served in fifteen minutes."

"Ah, yes," said Jöchmann. "Forgive me. Let us move onto the French." He almost looked excited.

Peter grimaced, thinking of Louis. What if that creep went looking for him? What if he tried to do something to him? Like make an example of him? Humiliate him or just hurt him in front of everyone? As the two officers started walking towards the gate into the next compound, Peter started forward, about to bring the attention onto himself. When he stepped forward, Luke grabbed his arm.

"What are you doing?"

"He's gonna go find Louie…I know it."

"You can't go out there," said Luke. "He'll kill you."

Stephen, who was further down the line, caught Peter's eyes and shook his head fiercely. But Peter was determined. He wrenched himself from Luke's grasp, and took another step. He opened his mouth to give a shout, but suddenly a large hand was over his mouth, and he was pulled back into the formation. He was spun around, and Peter looked up at Berg with surprise.

Berg did not take his hand off Peter's mouth as he talked to him. "You haf to trust Major Duerr. He vill not let your French friend get hurt. You vill only get yourself in trouble if you leave the line." Finally, he took his hand off Peter's mouth, but did not let him go.

"I don't care if I get in trouble," said Peter. "I won't let that monster touch my friend."

"He vill not," said Berg earnestly. "Major Duerr vill not let him. You see. Now get back in line. Stay there." He pushed Peter back in place, and looked at him accusingly.

"Why do you care anyway," asked Peter.

Berg smiled. "I like Major Duerr better than the SS Major. I trust Major Duerr. He has never treated me badly or anyone else badly without cause."

Peter looked distrustful, but opted to say no more. Instead, he peered into the French compound worriedly. Every eye in the British compound was now turned to the French as well. Jöchmann did the same as he had done with the British. He stood before the formation watching with the utmost interest. As the British had been, many of the French soldiers fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze. Peter strained to see Louis, but he was well within the ranks.

"If your major is so great, why isn't 'e gettin' rid o' that creep now," asked Peter impatiently.

Berg scowled. "He cannot push around the SS."

Peter glared, but said no more when Jöchmann took some steps forward. It looked like he was talking.

***** ***** *****

Louis stood in the most perfect example of attention. He wanted to bring no attention upon himself. Marcel was down the row, being of higher rank. The tension was thick in the air with the SS Major staring at the prisoners. But then he stepped forward.

"You must all be wondering what I am doing here," he said. His accent was thick but controlled. "I only came to inspect the ranks, so to speak. However, your Major and Kommandant believe that you are none of my business; they learned that they were wrong today. The security of this area lies in the hands of the SS, and so the security of this camp is something I am concerned with. Therefore, I will be making periodical inspections of this camp. That should be of enough warning for you now. I know one of your comrades around here has already been privileged to my punishment. Perhaps he can enlighten you. Unless—" he turned to look at Duerr "—that man died with the pneumonia?"

"He is not dead," Duerr replied evenly.

"Well, then," said Jöchmann. "Why does he now step forward, so that I can see how he is?"

No one moved. "That was not a suggestion," said Jöchmann. "It was an order."

Duerr's eyes scanned the Frenchmen. When no one moved, Géraud stepped forward. He looked at Jöchmann.

"None of my men take orders from you," he said. "I am their commanding officer. They take no orders from anyone but me."

"They took orders from someone before you were here," retorted Jöchmann sharply.

"_Oui,_" replied Géraud. "Him." He gestured to Duerr. Jöchmann looked at Duerr with composed anger. Suddenly, he raised his hand; about to strike Géraud for is so-called insolence.

"_Halt!"_

Duerr's words came out so authoritatively and forcefully that Jöchmann actually stopped and turned on his heel quickly. But when he saw that it was only Duerr behind him he smiled.

"You think to protect these prisoners," he sneered.

"_Commandant Géraud,_" said Duerr. "Get back in line." Géraud did immediately, much to Jöchmann's annoyance. Duerr looked at Jöchmann. "One thing you do not seem to realize is that you are _not _in charge of these men. His camp is under the Kommandant's rule. You have the ability to come to inspect security, but never the men themselves. That charge still lies with the Wehrmacht, and rightly so. The Wehrmacht captured these men, and therefore they remain in our hands. They are currently laborers of the Third Reich, and should you harm one of them, you will need to pay up for what service will be missed. Now, should you ever mistreat one of these men without due cause, you will find yourself in trouble. You will have disobeyed orders; orders you cannot get around because they were given by your own superiors. So—" he looked to Géraud. "Step forward _Commandant_." Géraud did, hiding his confusion. Duerr looked back at Jöchmann. "So, considering all that, you may now strike this man if you wish."

Géraud, for his part, did not look surprised at all by Duerr's offer. But the enlisted men could not so easily squelch their disapproval. Angry murmurs rose up from the ranks. _Capitaine _Noël quieted them, and Géraud appeared proud. He smiled smugly at Jöchmann, as if daring him to strike. The suspense was too much for Louis, who suddenly cried out.

"_Non!"_

He broke from formation, and came to stand by Géraud. He saluted and went to attention.

"Do not strike _Commandant _Géraud," he pleaded. "It is me you want, _non?_ Well, I am 'ere."

Jöchmann smiled. "I knew you spoke English," he said at last. "Well, I see that you have untamed prisoners, Major." His hand twitched. "But, I will do nothing about it now. Maybe after the work more this spring, they will lose the spring in their step, no? Ha, ha." His laugh was not cheery, and no one smiled with him. But he knew it. He just straightened his jacket and looked at Duerr. "I think my inspection is complete, Major. Thank you for your time."

Without one more look to the prisoners, he left. No one moved or said a word until he was out of the camp. When his car disappeared around the road, Géraud turned on Louis immediately.

"What were you thinking," he asked in French. "At attention, Corporal. Listen, you had orders from Captain Noël to remain in line and be silent. You did neither. He could have really hurt you had he had a mind to. I suggest you learn how to obey orders if you want to keep yourself hidden from that man."

"Yes, sir," replied Louis. "But I did not want him to hurt you. It is not right. He wanted me."

"That is not your decision," said Géraud. "Now get back in line."

Louis saluted and did as he was told. Back in line, Marcel gave him a livid look, and Louis knew he would get a good reprimanding from him as well. Not to mention he could practically see Peter's face in his mind's eye. The Englishman was probably fuming on the other side of the fence at the stupidity of it all. Louis was just glad that Peter had still not been seen.

Duerr had remained still while Géraud talked to his men. He hid a smile when he heard the conversation. He had had men in the past that were just as protective. And--as he knew that Géraud was implying--he had cared for his men just as much. But those days were in the past out in a battlefield. Not that he felt responsibility to the men under his command now, but there was a difference when you were fighting a battle. A man's life at stake changes many things.

When Géraud finished and then stepped back in line himself, Duerr dismissed the French prisoners to the mess hall for dinner. They eagerly went, already tired of standing in line. Duerr watched them go, and then went into the British compound. The men were lined up in formation just as he had left them. Except that Berg was standing in the ranks, his hand around the back of Corporal Newkirk's neck in restraint. Duerr once again had to hide a smile. He should have known the Corporal would try something when his French counterpart was in danger. Berg, of course, had been quick enough to prevent that. Duerr then dismissed the British prisoners to their barracks, assuring them that they would get dinner after the French.

He watched as Berg released the English Corporal only at the side of his other close companions. They urged him along into the barracks. Duerr nodded to Berg in satisfaction and then went back into his office. There, he was not surprised to find the Kommandant there, looking out the window onto the compound.

"He will fight for control of this camp," said the Kommandant.

"I know," replied Duerr. "And he will try every trick in the book to get it."

"You did well in challenging him," complimented the Kommandant.

"Thanks," said Duerr, with a pleasant smile as he took his seat at the desk. "Creeps like that bring out the best in me."

The Kommandant smiled as he watched the English Corporal steal one last glance towards the mess before finally going into the barracks.

"It brings out the best in others as well, I see."

***** ***** *****

"I guess we really can trust the Major," said Luke when they sat down in the barracks. Peter stomped past him and snatched a pack of cigarettes from his bunk. He pulled one out and quickly lit it. Only then did he sit down and smoke it. But his eyes betrayed that he was still not comfortable.

"That idiot," he finally said after a long drag. "The ole creep could've really done 'arm."

"Didn't you hear the Major," said Luke. "He wouldn't have let the creep get far enough to really hurt Louis."

"Yea," said Peter. "But now the creep will always be lookin' for Louie whenever 'e comes by on 'is little 'inspection' tours. Louie should've stayed in line."

Stephen laughed. "Yer a bona fide hypocrite, Peter. Berg had tae grab ye by the neck so ye wouldn't run oot there. An' if ye'd been in Louie's position, ye'd have done the same thing." Peter gave him a look, and Stephen laughed again. "Don't denay it, lad. We know it, _you_ know it, and Berg obviouslay knew it."

Finally, Peter smiled and shrugged. "Yea. I just wish Louie were smarter than me. I guess I won't come down 'ard on 'im."

***** ***** *****

March 2, 1941

"It was foolish is all I'm sayin'."

Louis rolled his eyes as he dug out the ditch more. Ever since they had been sent to work out in the field about a half-hour ago, Peter had been on him about the whole incident that had taken place the day before. Louis let him ramble, knowing that his friend was only concerned. Marcel had done the same at the mess.

Down the ditch, and at the end of the line, Luke had drifted off out of earshot of Peter a long time ago. He was absorbed in his thoughts of home as he dug. He thought about when he used to do this after running away from home before the war. He had joined up, and the first thing he had done was dug ditches for the new base built out somewhere in the English countryside. Now, he was digging ditches so the fields could drain well. Some change of life, he thought. Still, he liked being outdoors. That was better than anything. Sitting in camp all day confined in the barracks was enough to drive most men crazy. So, getting out--even for work--was something he enjoyed.

Luke stopped momentarily, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He stretched and then leaned on his shovel to take a break. While he stood there, he let his eyes wander over the farm, and into the fields where the cattle were grazing. Something then caught his eye on the tree line. There was movement in the woods. He watched curiously, and was stunned when a large, black she-wolf loped out of the woods and into the field. Luke's jaw dropped when he became more astonished when three wolf pups followed her. They were in the corner of the field, and Luke saw what drew them: a small pond in the field where the cattle drank from during the day. Currently, there were no cattle at the watering hole, which had persuaded the she-wolf to lead her pups into the vicinity. Luke watched intriguingly as the four drank.

"Hey! Get to vork!"

Luke spun around at the shout he knew was directed to him. Berg was standing p on the bank of the ditch, looking down menacingly at the idle Luke. Ever since the escape, Berg guarded Peter. So, the Sergeant was usually never far from Luke.

"Okay," said Luke exasperatedly. "I was just taking a break."  
But the shout and drawn eyes to him, and also in the direction of the wolves. Now, many men spotted the wolves, including the guards. Immediately, an alarm went up, especially when Farmer Jakowitz spotted them. He created an uproar immediately, demanding that the wolves be shot.

"Why are you going to shoot them," asked Luke. "They're not bothering anything."

"Because zey vill eventually hunt ze livestock," explained Berg. "The vater source vill draw zem here."

"How do _you_ know," argued Luke. "You don't have to kill them."

"Luke," said Peter sternly. "Wot 'as to be done, 'as to be done. Wolves are threats to livestock. Everyone knows that."

"But they're just pups," said Luke.

"Just get back to vork," ordered Berg. "_Und_ let us do our job." He gave Luke a little push in the chest.

"Oi, we're getting' back to work," snapped Peter, sending a glare in Berg's direction. "No need to be forceful, now."

Berg just chuckled, and looked up where guards had started going after the wolves. Unsurprisingly, the she-wolf ran off, the pups at her heels as they fled. She stopped when she hit the tree line, and let her pups go before her. She snarled at the guards as they neared, and then leapt into the woods. The guards followed immediately. By now, every man on the farm was watching. But the guards and wolves went out of sight. Though, only moments later, there were two shots fired. About thirty seconds, another was fired. After that, everything went still.

Jakowitz was standing by the watering hole when the guards returned. They reported that they had killed the she-wolf and two of her pups. The third pup had disappeared. Jakowitz shrugged, saying it would most likely die if it were alone. The guards returned to the fields, and everyone went back to work.

"They didn't have to kill them," Luke muttered disappointedly.

Peter looked at Luke sharply. "You can't save everyone, mate. I know you want to, but you just can't. Besides, you'll only 'urt yourself more when you keep tryin' an' you don't make it sometimes."

"Fine thing for you to say," Luke retorted angrily. Peter, Louis, and Marcel looked up at him, startled. Stephen was with the sheep out in the fields. Luke stepped up to Peter so that his face was inches away. "I can try, can't I? I don't want them to win." He pointed at Berg, who was watching the argument from out of the ditch. "And the way the win here is by making us think we can't change anything. So, _if you please_, I think I'll be just as optimistic as I can, and I'll try and help whoever I can." He then went back to work.

Peter looked at Louis and Marcel, who both shrugged. He then looked back at Luke. "Sorry, mate. I just didn't want you to worry so much."

***** ***** *****

That night, it got colder than usual. Luke had chosen to keep his battledress jacket on while he slept. But it was not the cold that was keeping him awake. He was deep in thought at what had transpired out in the fields that day. He hadn't really meant to snap at Peter that way. It just seemed that sometimes the man took up a role that was too protective and pessimistic. Luke knew Peter was only scared for his friends, and Luke took comfort in that. It was nice to know someone was always watching your back. Still, he wished he could let Peter know that Luke was watching out for him, and meant to keep him hopeful through all of this. That was what Luke considered his job here. While Peter thought he had the job of watching out for everyone in terms of threats, Luke thought he had the job of watching out for everyone in terms of losing hope.

Luke sighed as tiredness slowly crept up on him. He really should get to sleep; another day of work ahead of them all. Then, right when he closed his eyes, a sound pierced the night. It was the most eerie, yet beautiful sound he had ever heard. Its pitch sent shivers up his spine, and the hair rose on his back when more tones joined it, forming an impeccable harmony. Luke sat up, and rolled over to the window. He leaned over and pushed it and the shutters open, so that he could hear the sound better.

Immediately, the other men woke up when they heard the howling. Other windows were open, and the men went still as they listened. The orchestra went on for what seemed hours; it was truthfully just minutes. But the wolf howls grew louder towards the end, and of higher pitch. It was coming from the north, where the farms lie.

All around the camp, prisoners and guards were listening. It was not late into the night, so few had really been asleep. Even Duerr and the Kommandant were listening.

It was mournful, Luke thought. A mournful howl that only described their woes. Luke looked around him, seeing the thoughtful look on many men's faces. He looked down on the bunk below him, where Peter lie. Peter was looking through the window up at the sky. Luke followed his gaze; it was nearly a full moon.

"It's beautiful," murmured Luke, looking at Peter.

Peter smiled. "Yea. The moon and the wolves."

Luke smiled back. "Sad too."

"Yea," said Peter. "But still beautiful."

Luke lay back on his bed, as the howls died away. _I guess he can be optimistic at times._


	32. The Benevolent Jailers

**Chapter Thirty-Two: T****he**** B****enevolent**** J****ailers**

March drifted by with no more appearances from Jöchmann, much to the prisoners' relief. There were no more incidents, and routine was only broken once when letters arrived; Duerr gave them an extra thirty minutes for the rec hour. Still, the monotone was becoming irksome again, so when April Fool's Day rolled around, everyone wanted something to happen.

The men of Barracke 14 woke up to find that their boots, jackets, and hats were not with them any longer. The hats were hanging up in the rafters in the highest, most inconvenient place. They had to stand on one another's shoulders to get them down. Berg was not pleased that it was taking them so long to come outside. He eventually forced them out, despite what they were missing. So, they reported out for roll call in socks, no jackets, and some still missing their hats. They were the laughing stock for the morning, but some laughed with. The situation was rather ridiculous. Duerr was not amused. He said that if one was not fully dressed, they would not be getting breakfast.

When they were dismissed, they spent the next fifteen minutes looking for their jackets and boots. The boots were found under the barracks and that was a comfort. No one wanted to go to work in their socks. The jackets, however, were another matter. They searched high and low for them, even under and in the pathetic mattresses. All they found was hay, revealing the mystery of what their mattresses were made of. Finally, the time to go to breakfast came, and with no jackets, they wondered if they would be allowed out. But when Berg came, Louis was with him, holding a stack of jackets in his arms, so only that his eyes could be seen over them.

"Oi, 'ow did you get those," demanded Peter.

"We found them in the mess 'all," said Louis.

"What?"

"How did they get there?"

The men quickly took back their jackets, and Louis could not help but chuckle as they did. Peter gave him a suspicious look.

"Did you 'ave somethin' to do wif this, Louie?"

"'Ow could I? I am locked up same as you. I just find it funny that someone got you."

"Yea," grumbled Peter. "But I don't find it so amusin'. We nearly lost our breakfast."

They went to breakfast and work without incident. Many of the men really thought Louis did have something to do with it. That might have been why someone hid his gloves during a break at the farm. He didn't find them until they were leaving.

Back at the camp, though, there was more grief when the prisoners returned to their barracks to find that they were empty of everything except the mattresses. Instead, in every barracks there was a note at the table that read that the war was over and if they wished they could leave. Upon reading this note, the first reaction was to look around the camp. Surprisingly, the gate was open, and there were no guards visible in the towers. There were, however, guards still milling around the camp. No one took the note seriously. However, Everley made up his mind to have some fun.

"They're tauntin' us," argued Everley. "I bet the Kommandant an' the Major are in the office 'avin' a jolly good laugh about it all."

"So, wot d'ye think yer goin' tae do about it," asked Stephen.

"I'm goin' to walk out those front gates," answered Everley confidently. "An' we'll see 'ow far they let this go. If I get to the no-man's-land, an' they make me go back, the laugh is off. That's probably what'll 'appen. They wouldn't _really_ let me walk out o' camp."

So, the men watched as Everley started walking for the gates. It was during rec hour, so the whole camp was out. Everley looked more nervous as he neared no-man's-land. The guards were watching him just as curiously as the prisoners were. Everley stopped when he reached the forbidden grounds. When he did, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find Peter and Louis standing behind him.

"You goin' or not," asked Peter. "Cause we are."

Everley's eyebrows shot up, but he smiled. "That a way, old boy."

They laughed and linked arms with Peter between Everley and Louis. Then, they walked into no-man's-land, and right on through the gates. When they were on the other side, they stopped, as if expecting something. They turned around, and looked back in, where all the prisoners were watching with mostly shock on their faces. A lot of them were looking around as if asking: what now?

That was what the men outside were thinking too. They hadn't really expected to be able to go through.

"So, right or left," asked Louis.

"Right means work, left means town," said Everley.

"Left," they said in unison.

So, as one, they turned left and started walking, arms still linked.

"Wonder when someone comes an' gets us," whispered Peter.

"They're probably watchin' us from the woods," replied Everley.

They all tried to look into the woods inconspicuously while they walked. Louis looked back at the camp. The prisoners and guards were lined up at the wire, watching them go. There were a few at the gate, trying to decide, but everyone still looked nervous. Louis spotted the four officers watching with utter disappointment.

"You know," said Louis thoughtfully. "This is really stupid of us. What if this was just bait, to get us to leave, and then someone shoots us for trying to escape us?"

"The Major wouldn't do that," replied Peter forcefully, as if he was trying to convince himself. They slowed down and looked at one another.

"Why _are_ we doin' this," asked Everley. "They're just goin' to tell us to go back."

"Because it's somethin' to do," answered Peter. He looked down the road, and his eyes went wide. "Staff car!"

Without another word, they ran back to camp. At their alarmed looks, the prisoners retreated from the wire. As soon as they were back in camp, everyone looked to the road. The staff car turned into the compound and stopped. The prisoners held their breath, waiting to see who would get out. The door opened…

The Kommandant and Major Duerr stepped out, both laughing heartily. The guards jeered at them, and for a long time, they prisoners were dumbfounded. Stephen finally reacted by pushing Peter and jeering at him. Soon enough, the entire camp was laughing, no one quite believing that the wool had been pulled over their eyes by the least likely of people.

***** ***** *****

Thus, April started off on a much better note than previous months. The prank was talked about repeatedly, and imitations of Everley, Peter, and Louis running back to camp never got old. When letters arrived a few days later, everyone wrote back about the prank. From then on, the prisoners regarded Duerr suspiciously. It was now believed that he was a just and difficult disciplinarian, but a character at heart. They were just not allowed to know him. Since Christmas, they had viewed him as a benevolent man, and believed that the Kommandant was as well. Still, many men were intimidated by the mystery of the Kommandant. April Fool's Day was only the third time most had seen the Kommandant. The first being when the British were told of the Blitz, and the second being when Peter and Louis escaped. Lastly, the prisoners were confident that Duerr could protect them from the "creep", _Sturmbannführer _Jöchmann.

And that was tested again when the creep—as Jöchmann was now known as amongst the prisoners—showed up again in late April, right in time for rec hour. Once again, the work on the tunnels ceased, and camp life was still. The prisoners' uneasiness was felt by the guards who became more alert and on edge. Many prisoners retreated back into their barracks, especially when they saw that Jöchmann had brought some of his own men into the camp. The SS guards wandered around the compound as if they owned the place. The few men who stayed outside were sitting up against the barracks. The officers stood together at the gate between the French and British compounds. They were leisurely leaning on the fence. When the SS guards noticed them, more trouble started.

A pair of SS guards walked over: an officer and corporal. As soon as they approached the Allied officers, all eyes went to them. The prisoners suddenly became alert and a few came out of the barracks, watching intently for foul play.

"Can we help you," asked Captain Lawrence, as the SS guards neared.

"We just want to talk," replied the officer. Though he was a low-ranking officer, he was an officer nonetheless. "We want to ask you some questions."

"Ask away, lads," answered Lawrence.

"Are you bored here?"

"_Non_. Not if you like to do nothing all day." _Capitaine _Noël smiled cheekily.

"You do not work," asked the officer.

"_We _don't," answered O'Neill. "Officers aren't allowed to work. Our men do." He gestured around to the prisoners who were still watching from their barracks.

"Do you like your Major Duerr?"

The Allied officers exchanged looks, and Géraud stepped forward. "'E is still a filthy German, so no."

The corporal was not pleased with the response and raised his hand. But the officer stopped him.

"_Nein_," he said, his eyes shooting towards the barracks. "We cannot cause too much trouble."

The corporal followed his gaze where more prisoners were gathering outside the barracks, just staring at the officers. The Wehrmacht camp guards were becoming tense as well. Finally, Berg entered the compound and walked over to where the officers were gathered.

"Any trouble, sir," Berg asked the SS officer. But it was in a clipped, strained tone.

"_Nein_," he replied. "We were just asking some questions. We are curious about the camp."

"I can answer any questions you have, sir" replied Berg. "I work around the prisoners all day."

"_Danke_, but that is all," replied the officer. He sent the corporal away, and turned to leave as well, but something caught his eye behind the officers. He stepped to the side to get a better look. "There is the Frenchman that was at our camp." He pointed across the compound to where Louis was sitting outside his barracks. At the sudden attention on him, Louis stood up.

But Géraud stepped in front of the SS officer. "_Oui_, it is. But if you 'ave a problem, go talk to your officer. 'E already saw 'im anyway."

The SS officer scowled and pushed Géraud aside, walking straight towards Louis. Louis just stood against the barracks. Beside him were Marcel, Torben, and his other barracks-mates. Peter and the others were on the British side of camp. When the SS officer got to Louis, he sneered at him.

"Remember that man that was in the hole with you," he asked. "The live one?"

Louis just nodded.

"He died yesterday," announced the officer. "He twisted his ankle, so he was not fit to work anymore. We shot him."

Louis just nodded again.

"What? You do not speak," asked the officer. "Did the Major cut out your tongue or are you just scared?"

"I think that is enough," said Géraud. "You 'ave no business with the prisoners 'ere."

"But I do, actually," said the officer. "With this prisoner. Because he was at my camp. Got a test of what he should be getting here."

"You will never find _that_ here."

Everyone turned around to see Major Duerr standing behind them. Jöchmann was there as well, but had a defeated look on his face. Duerr looked more lively than usual with a thin smile on his lips. He was glaring at the SS officer.

"The _Sturmbannführer_ would like to return to his camp," said Duerr. "That would include you too, _Untersturmführer_."

The SS officer, the _Untersturmführer_, scowled but nodded and went to stand beside his commanding officer. Duerr nodded at them both.

_"Auf wiedersehen."_

The two SS officers turned around and started for their car. But Jöchmann froze when he saw you stood in front of him about twenty yards away. It was that man, _Peter Newkirk_, who had escaped death. Two men stood beside him. He appeared as if he had just stopped in the compound to watch. Truthfully, he had no longer been able to watch from the other compound as Louis was tantalized. He had been somewhat relieved when Major Duerr made an appearance, but was not comforted enough to not be at Louis's side. When it looked like everything was in order, though, he had stopped. Now, he was in plain sight of the creep. And the creep smiled when he saw Peter.

"Well, it's unpleasant to see you're still alive," said Jöchmann.

"Sorry to spoil your day," Peter shot back. "But I don't believe I was the only reason your day got spoiled."

Jöchmann glared at that, and the prisoners tried to hide smiles. Jöchmann walked up to him, and Peter felt his heart pump faster. Stephen and Luke slid closer to him as the two SS officers came and stood before them.

"You should start worrying now, _schwein_," said Jöchmann. "Because when the SS take charge of this camp, it will be the likes of you who go first."

Peter glared. "You won't get this camp."

"Oh, so you have some confidence in your Major, do you," asked Jöchmann.

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "You're leavin' aren't you?"

Jöchmann's fists clenched, but then relaxed when he heard footsteps behind him. Peter looked around the SS officers and smiled when he saw Duerr.

"Your car is waiting," Duerr said.

Without another word, the SS officers walked around Peter and to their car. Once again, the camp silently and anxiously watched and waited until they were out of sight. As soon as they were, the Allied officers and all of Peter's friends descended on Peter, berating him for his stupidity. While they talked and the Englishman pathetically defended himself, Duerr called Berg over to him.

"Extend the recreation period another fifteen minutes," said Duerr.

"_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_," said Berg.

"And give Corporal Newkirk a day in the cooler for his insolence," said Duerr.

"_Jawohl_," replied Berg.

"For insolence," echoed Peter.

Duerr smiled. "That could have gotten you hurt and has now put you on even worse terms with the _Sturmbannführer_. Take him away Berg."

Peter slouched and groaned, but no one protested when Berg took him by the arm and led him to the cooler.

"Maybe it will keep you out of trouble," Louis called to him.

Still walking, Peter turned around and stuck his tongue out at Louis. The men laughed. Duerr just shook his head and went back to his office. Back inside, the Kommandant was smoking a cigar as he watched out of the window.

"Did you have to put him in the cooler," he asked.

"I believe it will warn him and others to keep their mouths shut in future occasions when the creep visits us," answered Duerr.

"The creep?"

"That is what the prisoners call _Sturmbannführer_ Jöchmann."

The Kommandant smiled. "So you care about them?"

"I will not see lives wasted," answered Duerr.

"Do you think they realize that?"

"I think they believe that we are benevolent jailers."

"Are we?"

"I think we are."

"Well, with the _creep_ only next door, we sure do look benevolent."


	33. Startling Fears

**Chapter Thirty-Three: S****tartling**** F****ears**

Throughout the rest of April and most of May, rain was present every day. Not a day went by that was void of rain; whether it be a quick afternoon shower or something akin to a monsoon. Everyone at camp quickly realized the held the low ground. It turned out that the river ran behind the prison, and was only a football field away. Overflow went quickly to the camp. This meant that the tunnels were at risk. After three days of relentless rain at the end of April, the officers ordered the tunnels to be closed for now. It was becoming a safety issue. Work details ceased as well. There was enough going on inside camp. Lining up for roll became an issue after a five-day stretch of rain when a 6-inch flood took over the compounds. Fortunately, all buildings were raised. But some questioned how long that would even last. Sandbags were ordered, and soon enough prisoners were outside laying out the bags around the camp's perimeter, preparing for the next big storm. When the water level in the ditches went down for a few days, the prisoners dug them deeper. A drainage system was implanted as well, demanding more digging from the prisoners. Despite the flooding issues, there were leaking roofs, cars stuck in the road, and very little clean water. There was a scare when a drowned deer got washed up to the fence. Now, the water had to be boiled before anyone could drink it. So, water from the well was hauled to the kitchens each morning to be boiled and then later served with the meals. Some prisoners created their own way to get a drink; they took buckets and cans and placed them under the holes in their roof. Whatever water they collected was fit to drink.

When the work on camp slowed, all anyone could do was wait for it to stop raining. When it didn't rain, the prisoners were allowed to mill around outside. But it was muddy, so few did. Instead, they congregated in other barracks, just for the socialization. Meals had a downturn because supplies came in slower because of the bad roads. Towards the end of May, more men were relying on the chocolate in the Red Cross packages. The Red Cross became a savior in the fight against boredom when a surprise delivery came with more board games. After everything was checked out to make sure no secret items were being smuggled in, the prisoners enjoyed more card games, backgammon, chess, and checkers. Since outside games were ruled out, tournaments were started. The English seemed to trump everyone in backgammon and the card game whist. But outside that, the variety of those who succeeded at all sorts of card and board games was astonishing. The second chess tournament they had ended up pitting _Commandant_ Géraud against a Welsh private, with the private taking a spectacular win. In cards, any gambling game had less variety in winners. The card sharks—and everyone knew who they were—dominated the games. At one point, even the officers tried to police the poker tournament but the deed was eventually given up. Peter ended up winning two tournaments in a row, raking in a lot of chocolates and cigarettes. After taking some to hold him till the next Red Cross delivery, he offered the rest for his barracks mates.

It was there that the men discovered Luke did not smoke.

"You're ruddy jokin'," said Peter at once. "You've never 'ad a fag in your entire life?"

"Well it's only been eighteen years," Luke pointed out.

"Come on, old chap," said Dean. "Just take a whiff."

"I'd rather not," said Luke. "I actually find it disgusting."

"'Ow so," asked Peter as he blew out his nose.

Luke grimaced. "It smells for one."

The men chuckled. "Girls smoke," said someone.

"Well I've met girls who don't find it attracting," countered Luke.

"My wife doesnae find it attractin'," said Stephen. "She doesnae mind when I smoke a cigar, but I usually have tae go intae the studay fer that."

Peter glowered at him. "You're not 'elpin' the situation, mate."

"Oh, let him be," said Stephen. "If he doesnae want tae take a smoke, ye donae have tae force him."

"Thanks," said Luke.

"Though I've never met a gentlemen who never had a smoke once in his life," added Stephen.

The guys laughed, and Peter shoved a cigarette under Luke's nose. "C'mon, just one. If you don't like it, we'll leave it at that. But you at least 'ave to try."

Luke stared at it. "Well, all right. Just one." He took it and placed it in his mouth. Peter took out his lighter and lit it. Luke took one breath and then started coughing hysterically. The cigarette fell from his mouth as he collapsed on the table bench trying to catch his breath. The men laughed uproariously at the young man's attempt. When Luke finally stopped coughing he was not happy, and showed it by stomping out of the barracks quickly. Peter and Stephen went after him. It was raining again—unsurprisingly—so Luke was walking along the barracks under the roof that extended over the side, creating a dry place to walk. Peter and Stephen caught up with him quickly.

"Oi, mate," called Peter. Luke did not bother to stop until Peter jumped in front of him to slow him down. Stephen got on one side of him, and threw an arm around the younger man's shoulders.

"Yer not goin tae late a few men 'avin' a laugh get at ye, are ye," asked Stephen.

"Yea, we didn't mean anythin' by it," said Peter. "We were just bein' a bunch of rotten arses—makin' you do somethin' you didn't want to do. But, since you don't like it, it won't 'appen again."

Luke looked up at him. "I just thought it was dirty."

"It was," agreed Stephen readily.

"In 'indsight, o' course," added Peter quietly. Stephen smacked him on the back of the head. But Luke caught Peter's eyes and couldn't help but smile.

"It's just that…," started Luke timidly.

"Yea," encouraged Peter.

"I had a girl back home," said Luke. "I still do, I hope. And everything she liked about me I wanted to keep so that when I got back it would be less like something happened. It would be more like it was before."

Peter and Stephen smiled. "Well, there's certainlay nothin' wrong with that," exclaimed Stephen. "The gel still write ye?"

"Yes. Every time we get letters I get one from her," said Luke. "I'm just scared one day I won't get a letter from her anymore. She's a great girl. And when we get home, that's one thing I hope stays the same."

"With you, mate, it will," assured Peter. "You're one man anyone can count on, an' I don't see any smart woman dumpin' you."

"Thanks a lot, but I'm sure it's just something silly now," said Luke, his face and ears red.

"Love is never silly," said Stephen. "Not in times like these."

"I'd love to make some wise statement," said Peter. "But seein' as I've never 'ad much real luck wif women, I'm not goin' to try."

***** ***** *****

June 4, 1941

The rain ceased, and outside the men took the liberty of 'celebrating' a year in captivity. While a year had actually already passed for most, they had never been able to hold an actual celebration for it. The celebration was simply to be as patriotic as possible, especially around the guards. There was a good deal of singing and some fake speeches and such about the failure of the Nazis. The Brits took special pride in how the Luftwaffe had not squashed the RAF as they had promised. They enjoyed pointing out that no ground had been gained in their home countries. (Everyone decidedly ignored the battles taking place in Africa.) The French took pride in any news that came from home speaking of resilience. No one mentioned the word Underground, but it was implied. The guards tried to ignore the prisoners, but it was hard to when there were numerous little French and British flags flying around on barracks, or jeers were constantly called. More than a few men were tossed in the cooler for their insolence. Peter and Louis were not excluded from this, especially since Berg was now watching out for their mischief always. They spent one night in the cooler for following one guard around the camp, taunting him for a good fifteen minutes with songs and jeers.

When the rain did not return the next day, Duerr deemed it well to return to work outside the camp. It was a muddy job for a good week, but most prisoners admitted that getting out again was enjoyable. But there was no end in sight for it. The tunnels were reopened and damage had been done. They would be set back at least a month. The morale of the prisoners dipped low. To worsen matters, Jöchmann returned. But this time, he was not under the supervision of the Kommandant, Major Duerr, or even Allied officers. He came to inspect the prisoners one day out at their workplace.

Seeking out his favorites, of course, Jöchmann appeared at the Jakowitz farm. His arrival was a startling surprise to everyone, including the guards. As for those working out in the field, who did not notice him arrive, his sudden appearance at their side was even more alarming.

"I am glad you work hard," was the comment he made to alert them to his presence.

The men he stood over all turned around, Louis finding himself closest. He involuntarily took a step back because of the uncomfortable closeness. However, the prisoners stared at Jöchmann with equal contempt written on their faces.

"Ve alvays make sure zey vork hard," replied Berg, who came to stand beside Jöchmann. He saluted the officer civilly.

"That is good," said Jöchmann. "Because a prisoner who works hard will have less time to escape."

"I wonder why this concerns you, sir," said Peter, from two places down. "Seein' as you 'ave nothin' over us. We _are_ Major Duerr's charges."

Jöchmann just smiled. "Actually, _Corporal_. That is no longer so. My role as security officer now extends into being able to inspect the prisoners as well. What little power Major Duerr and your Kommandant kept is now gone. The only role they hold now is that they were wardens. But, virtually, they are under my command."

The prisoners looked nervously around at one another.

"What does that mean for us, then," asked Luke.

"It means you will learn a new order of living," replied Jöchmann.

"How," demanded Luke. "We have the Geneva Conventions." He stuck out his chin defiantly.

Jöchmann laughed. "_Junge, _would you like to see what I have done with your Geneva Conventions?"

"Done with them," inquired Luke.

"_Ja_," said Jöchmann. "How I do not follow them."

The prisoners just stared at him. He narrowed his eyes at Luke. "Well, do you?"

"No sir," answered Luke quickly.

Jöchmann smiled. "That is too bad, because I have already made up my mind." He looked to his men, and ordered them to take Luke to the car. Though the specific words were not comprehended by the prisoners, the meaning was; especially when two SS guards started pulling Luke from the ditch.

Immediately, there was a small uprising from the surrounding prisoners. The Wehrmacht guards pushed back, though. They realized they had no power here; not with a SS officer. Peter struggled against Berg with a ferocity few had seen in him.

"You can't take 'im! You can't take 'im! You let 'im go!"

Jöchmann just watched the reaction with pleasure, and he stepped forward to Peter with frustratingly perfect composure.

"One day, Corporal, you will learn as well," he said. "But for now, I will educate others. They can tell you all about it later. Or, you can wait, and see for yourself when the time comes for your camp."

Peter had gone still as Jöchmann talked, coming to the sudden realization that this Jöchmann was beyond creepy. He was the most sinister man; a devil in human form, and relentless in his motives. Peter feared him. But furthermore, Peter feared the fate of someone in his hands. And right now that someone was Luke, the young man he felt he had a duty to protect. Their light in the dark could not be tarnished by this _demon_.

"You can't take 'im," Peter repeated softly. Pleadingly. Desperately.

"Are you begging," asked Jöchmann with a hint of surprise, but mostly amusement.

"Wot?"

"Are you begging for your friend?"

"I will if I need to."

"I thought the English were too proud to beg."

"I am _never_ too proud to beg."

Jöchmann lost his amusement at the seriousness of Peter's tone. He stepped back. "Well, you do not have to beg, because as I already said: I have made up my mind."

Without another word, he turned around and walked away, his guards following as they hauled Luke along. Luke looked back one last time, and caught Peter's eyes. He was scared. They all were.

***** ***** *****

Louis sat outside the barracks on a crate, listening as boots squelched back and forth in the mud in front of him. Normally, he would have been irritated by the sound and motion. But now, his thoughts were elsewhere so that he scarcely noticed it. He was envisioning the sight of the hole and the smells it had produced. The fear he could taste in the air. The camp's tone was something he never wanted to feel again. And when he had been taken back, he was sure he would never have to feel it again. But he had been wrong. It was back. It was back as he thought of what Luke may be seeing or feeling at this very moment.

After Jöchmann had marched off with Luke, Berg left the farm to relay the news to his superior officers. The Kommandant and Major Duerr had left immediately. It was now late in the afternoon, and still no one was back. Berg was in charge of the camp, which had almost gotten Peter sent to the cooler. Berg was so afraid that the Englishman would do something, that he threatened him with the cooler again. Berg had worried about Louis as well, but the Frenchman had been in a daze since Luke was taken. Peter had not left his side since. No one had. The groups of friends had collapsed in on one another. The ranks were closed, for fear of being singled out. And most were avoiding Peter and Louis, who had already made a name for themselves. Only Stephen and Marcel stood beside them.

Louis was finally snapped out of his reverie when the squelching boots stopped. He looked up. Peter had stopped pacing and was staring at the wire. Louis stood up quickly.

_"Non."_

Peter turned around. "Huh?"

"You are looking at the wire funny."

"I wouldn't charge it, Louie. I was just wonderin'. No…I was 'opin' that maybe it would just fall down or somethin'. Needless to say, I'm lookin' for a miracle."

"Giving up," asked Louis.

"Maybe," answered Peter. "I mean, wot if the creep really does get control o' us. We'll end up like that other camp that you saw."

"I will not dare believe it until it 'appens," declared Louis. "And that is only _if_ it 'appens." Peter just stared at him, obviously in doubt. Louis went on. "Listen to me, Pierre. You cannot let this get to you. You 'ave to be strong. You 'ave to be strong so that we can escape and you can make it 'ome, and you 'ave to stay strong for Luke. Because if you give up, as 'e fears and tries to prevent, then _he_ will lose 'ope. And I know that is what _you_ fear most."

Peter smiled at him. "I know. I'm…I'm afraid."

"We all are," said Stephen.

"But we can't let it overcome what we need to do…which is stick together and work our way through this," said Marcel. "Right?"

"Right," concluded Louis assertively. He looked at Peter and narrowed his eyes. "Right?"

Peter smiled. "Sure, why not?"

Louis chuckled, but it died away simply because the mood couldn't handle it. He sat down again, and Peter's boots were squelching in the mud again as he started up his incessant pacing. Louis stared at the little valley the pacing was making in the mud. It was filling up with water now, and suddenly they all realized that it was raining.

***** ***** *****

Most were worried about the events of the day, and also about the fact that Luke had not returned. The Kommandant or Major Duerr had no either. The afternoon had been a depressing one, and the rain only mimicked their mood. At night, it continued to rain, and normally the pattering of raindrops on the roof would have sent Peter's eyes dropping. But not tonight. He had not even bothered to get undressed. He was just lying on his bunk on top of the blanket, staring up at the bunk above him, which was usually sagging with the weight of Luke in it. But it was still, tonight.

Peter reflected then on how much the men around the camp had come to mean to him. The role they played in his eyes…even here where the dullness might have wiped away any since of community. Louis was his best friend; one who could always read his mind and know how to steer him back onto the right course; hard when he needed to be, but soft when he needed to be. Stephen watched over them all with his fatherly instincts, and always seemed to understand what each man feared but also how to deal with it the most mature way possible, without losing his composure. Marcel was patient and thoughtful. He was calm enough that one could never feel too lost with him nearby. And Luke was there for all of them to look at and remember that they were okay. There was always something to do, something to smile about, and something look forward to. To Peter, he was a little brother. Seeing as he already was n older brother, he was compelled to protect his friend. And when he could not, he was always afraid.

Around midnight, another sound penetrated the pattering rain. It was the sound of an engine. Peter sat up quickly, rolled off the bunk (nearly hitting Stephen in the process) and opened up the window. Of course, being further back in the rows of barracks, they couldn't see the compound. But they could hear a car engine more clearly. Someone had definitely come back in camp. Peter shut the window as the searchlight came around and looked at Stephen.

"You think it might be 'im," he asked.

"We'll just have to wait an' see," replied Stephen softly. They sat down on the bunk. The barracks was fully awake now. Peter took out a smoke in hopes of calming his nerves. It wasn't working out so well, so he stood up to pace. That drove everyone up the wall, so Stephen pulled him down to sit at the bunk again. Only minutes later, when Peter thought he was going to lose it, the barracks door opened up.

Everyone jumped up to see who it was. Berg stood in the doorway, dripping wet.

"Corporal Newkirk, you are needed at the cooler," he announced.

"Cooler," echoed Peter. "Wot for? I didn't do anythin'."

"Just come," ordered Berg.

Peter sighed and pulled on his cover and battledress jacket. He left the barracks with Berg, who was wearing a rain jacket and did not see a reason to hurry through the rain. Thus, Peter was forced to endure the wet. He shivered when they stepped into the cooler, but at least it was dry. He looked down the narrow hallway and spotted Duerr solemnly standing outside one cell. He looked up when they entered.

"Corporal Newkirk," he said. "Your friend is back."

Peter stepped forward quickly to enter the cell. Duerr held up his hand and he stopped. "He is not well. And he is being punished. I want you stay with him tonight, so that maybe he will tell you something. I need to know what happened to him."

Peter just nodded. It was all a riddle to him. Being punished…what could Luke have done? And Duerr did not seem angry right now. He seemed weary, but determined. There was no anger directed at Peter, and he could not sense any towards Luke.

"In the morning," Duerr continued. "I will call on you and hopefully you can tell me something."

"Yes, sir," replied Peter. "And sir, can you get Louis out here as well?"

"Who," asked Duerr.

Peter straightened. "Corporal LeBeau, sir. Please."

Duerr shook his head. "The fraternization between British and French prisoners is going to cease."

Peter was shocked and his expression showed it.

"That is the new order for security," Duerr said. "Issued by the SS."

Peter's jaw clenched in anger, and he did not wait to be dismissed by Duerr. Instead, he stepped past him and went into the cell. Luke was sitting against the wall, looking completely lost. He did not even acknowledge Peter being in there. He only looked up when the cell door was shut. He locked eyes with Peter.

"'Ello chum," said Peter. "'Ow you feelin'?"

"Tired," answered Luke solemnly.

Peter went and sat beside him. "I bet so. Where did the creep take you?"

"To the same camp he took Louis," replied Luke. He looked at Peter. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"I don't think we 'ave a choice, mate," said Peter.

"What makes you say that," asked Luke.

"I think the Major wants to 'elp," said Peter. "'E doesn't believe in wot Jöchmann does at that camp. An' 'e doesn't want to see it 'appen 'ere. I think, that if 'e can find a way, 'e'll stop it. But you 'ave to tell us wot 'appened, so that 'e can do somethin' about it."

Luke looked at Peter again. "It was murder," he whispered finally.

"Murder," asked Peter, shocked. "Wot are you talkin' about?"

"Just listen," said Luke. "The camp, it's for Polish prisoners, like Louis said. But there's more to it than what Louis saw. It's just as brutal, but in more ways. The prisoners work too, but the work is harder, and their rations terrible. They just get this soup—and you think our soup is watery? Their soup has absolutely nothing in it. At night, they get a piece of stale bread, But that's it, and some of the prisoners said that sometimes they get even less. Like maybe just bread one morning, but nothing at night. They're so thin. Their barracks are little huts with no floors. There's no windows, just one doorway, but no door. It's every man for himself too, mostly. Some prisoners are like wardens for their own people, and for that they get more food. They sell one another out for more food, and those that are too weak to work anymore, or get in trouble…they just get killed. Hung or shot. And then…they burn their bodies in this giant crematorium, or their bodies are just dumped in this big hole in the middle of the camp. It's like a reminder of what might happen to you."

Peter's jaw had dropped. "That…that's murder!"

"I know!" Luke looked away. "It…It was terrible. I never thought I'd ever see something like that. I didn't even know people were capable of it. But…but Peter listen. There was more to it."

"More!"

"The people. We've only seen Polish soldiers, right? Well, it's not just soldiers."

_"What?" _Peter's tone was clipped as he thought of what he pleaded was not true.

"They have civilians there as well. There's another part of the camp that Louis must have never seen. It's civilians. They have the same treatment, too, but it's…it's women and children and old men and boys. They do the same work, are killed the same…but…" Luke's voice broke off as tears built up in his eyes. Peter had looked away, and was now staring at the ceiling.

"They can't do that!"

"I know…I know," whispered Luke. "It's murder. But they're doing it."

"It's atrocious as it is with soldiers," said Peter. "But women? _Children?_ I—" He was lost for words.

"Peter," said Luke. "There was this kid. He was working in a field—right there in the camp—and he was coughing. He was coughing a lot, and anyone could tell he was just sick. He was kind of tall, but he couldn't have been more than fourteen years old. His face was just so young. He just kept coughing…and then this guard came by and pulled him out of the field. He said he was too sick to work, and told him to go to the infirmary. The other children were crying. I asked why, and they said he wasn't coming back. When you were sent to the infirmary, you didn't come back."

"Who were these people," asked Peter suddenly, his voice hoarse. "They were Jews? Gypsies?"

"Jews," answered Luke. "How did you know?"

"Louie got a letter from 'ome," explained Peter. "An' it talked about 'ow Jews an' Gypsies an' other people were disappearin' an' bein' relocated. I think—I think this is wot it means to be relocated."

Luke suddenly couldn't take it anymore. He bowed his head and just started sobbing. Peter put his arms around the younger man and let him dry it out. Peter's heart was quivering as well. How could someone escape this evil?

The following morning, Peter related to Duerr what Luke had told him. Through much of it, Duerr's face was composed. But at the mention of civilians, Duerr began to look outraged. Peter hardly blamed it, and when he was finished, was glad to be dismissed. He had no desire to be present when Duerr let go of his anger.

Since it continued to rain, they were not a work today, so Peter went to the barracks. He found Luke sound asleep in his bunk, and everyone wanting to know the story. Even Lawrence and O'Neill were there. Peter sighed and told them. Afterwards, everyone knew things had changed. Now, they could definitely not let the camp go that way. They had to stall it as long as possible, so that they could escape from it forever.


	34. Now More Than Ever We Long For Freedom

**Chapter Thirty-Four: N****ow**** M****ore**** T****han**** E****ver**** W****e**** L****ong ****F****or**** F****reedom**

June 6, 1941

"Major Duerr said 'e put you in the cooler to be punished," said Peter to Luke that afternoon during rec hour. "Why? Was it because you wouldn't answer 'is questions?"

Luke looked up at him tiredly. "No. The creep put me in there."

"I donnae understand," said Stephen. "How does he have the right to put ye in the cooler?"

"Cause 'e 'as control o' the camps now, mate, that's why," answered Peter. "But why did the creep put you in there? Out o' spite?"

"No," answered Luke in the same monotonous tone. "I hit him."

Peter and Stephen's eyebrows shot up. "You hit him!"

"Yea," answered Luke listlessly. "He was laughing at something rather vulgar that I didn't approve of. So…I hit him."

Peter and Stephen looked at one another, and then scrutinized Luke more closely. Luke looked up and smiled. "I'm fine. Oddly, he didn't touch me. I thought I was dead meat, but at the time I didn't care. He just said I would be sent to the cooler."

"This is so ruddy confusin'," said Peter. "'E's toyin' with us." Peter stood up and took a few steps toward the fence that divided the camp. But he stopped, suddenly frustrated because he remembered that they could no longer talk with their French counterparts. He missed conversing with Louis. It was a comfort to spot him every now and then; the most they saw of one another was while working at the farm. But even then, the French and British were kept separate.

"Wot I want tae know is how this creep got control o' the camp," said Stephen. "The Major seemed so confident that he wouldnae let it happen. So, wot happened? I want tae know who screwed us over."

"Me too," said Peter. "But I don't think it was the Major's fault."

"How can ye say that," asked Stephen. "Ye think it's the Kommandant?"

"I especially _don't _think it's 'im," said Peter. "'E allowed the Major to deal with us as so. I actually think they just had no choice in the matter. I think Jöchmann pulled somethin' they weren't expectin' an' caught them off guard. Because, as you said, the Major was confident in bein' able to keep Jöchmann away. An' 'e plays a lot by the book as well. 'E was probably lookin' at the few options Jöchmann 'ad legally."

"So Jöchmann did something illegal," asked Stephen. "Why couldnae they just take that tae the superiors? Put Jöchmann in the light and get rid o' him?"

"Maybe 'e 'as somethin' on _them_," suggested Peter.

"But you just said the Major likes to play by the book," countered Stephen. "And if he did, Jöchmann wouldnae have anything on him."

Peter stopped. "'E likes to play fair. 'E likes to stretch it though. Because looks at 'ow 'e treats us. Though it's a damn prison camp, we survive an' 'e 'elps when things get out o' our 'ands. That can't be in the Nazi rulebook. But wot if 'e's done somethin' in the past? 'Im or the Kommandant? They 'id it, thinkin' they'd never 'ear from it again, but Jöchmann found it. Now, 'e's usin' it as leverage."

"Blackmail," murmured Luke. "And ultimately, we suffer from it."

"Yes," said Peter. "We do."

They were not the only ones to come to this sort of conclusion. Everyone was sure that Jöchmann had pulled some foul trick. Still, few could help but be angry with the Major and Kommandant for letting it happen. The previous incidents had confidently suggested that there was little Jöchmann could have ever done. But with the sudden turn of events, the captors were to blame. Since the day that Luke had been taken everyone was on guard for Jöchmann to show up randomly. But for the next week, he never made an appearance and business went on as usual. The progress on the tunnel had slowed down tremendously, though, because recreation hall was given up only thirty minutes to the French and then thirty to the British. Recreation hour seemed dimmer than ever since there were more guards patrolling inside the fence now.

***** ***** *****

June 13, 1941

Torben Arcenau came back from work in town with interesting news that confirmed something of blackmail between Jöchmann and the Kommandant. Though the details of the blackmail were not known, enough had been said to confirm it. While working on the roads in town, two SS soldiers (who were more frequent in sight now) were talking nearby to where Torben was. He decided to listen for any useful information. Eventually he was about to abandon the idea because it was mostly a futile conversation. But, at the end, one asked the other why Jöchmann had gone to Berlin last month. This immediately perked up Torben's interest. The other answered that Jöchmann had spent hours going through Wehrmacht records, and afterwards he spoke of having Stalag XXXA for himself. Though nothing else was said because the soldier proclaimed ignorance of anything else, Torben had been satisfied that he now knew most of the truth.

Back at camp, Torben went straight to the officers Géraud and Noël and told them what he had heard. Géraud was glad because he felt it meant that if neither Duerr nor the Kommandant had a hand in the changes at camp, they might be pressured into changing some of it. But only if all the officers participated. So, Géraud called for Louis to find a way to relay the news to Peter, as they had done in the past. Despite not being able to talk through the wire, Louis found it easy enough to complete that mission. He left his hat underneath the stage in the rec hall, where he knew Peter would be later on. Inside the hat, he sewed in a note which explained everything.

As assumed, Peter did find the hat, and immediately knew it was meant for him to find. The note was easily found, and the information then relayed on. He left another note in reply for the officers who decided they were in on the plan to pressure Duerr and the Kommandant.

To avoid suspicion for a few days they planned what they would say. If they acted like they knew too much or had been communicating, it would only put them in further trouble. To plan their statements, they used Peter and Louis's message scheme. Before they could act, though, letters came, and for a day rec hour was silent.

In Barracke 14, letters were quickly handed out and every mean retreated to their bunk for privacy. Peter ripped his open. The first thing he did was check the name on the bottom: _Mavis_. Good. Then, he quickly skimmed through it looking for signs of death. He expected the words about what was gone or still standing. After assuring himself that no one else he knew had died, he laid back to formally read the letter. Luke's head suddenly appeared from the top bunk. The younger man looked at him upside down.

"Everything okay," Luke asked.

"Yes," answered Peter. "Everyone's alright. You?"

"Yes," answered Luke. "All my sisters talk about is their nurse training, though. It's kind of boring. But my oldest sister is joining the WAAF."

"Yea, Mavis keeps saying she wants to but I told her not until she finishes school."

"Okay, well I'll let you finish your letter."

"Thanks."

Luke rolled back over, leaving Peter alone.

Below Peter, Stephen sat down as he opened his letter. The first thing he noticed when he unfolded it was that it was in his brother's hand. He was surprised, but happy because he hadn't heard from his brother in awhile. But as he read the letter, his spirits dipped lower than ever.

_Dear Stephen,_

_I know I haven't written in a long time, and there's no excuse because I'm not that busy. But now, I am forced to write you because tragedy has struck us. On March 13__th__ and 14__th__, Clydebank was bombed by the Luftwaffe. On the 13__th__, Shona and Maisie went there to visit her Shona's sister and mother. I am sorry to inform you, brother, that all of them perished that night. They say that about 500 people were killed. Clydebank was turned to rubble in 48 hours. _

_Brother, I am no man for helping those with sorrow, but I want you to know how deeply sorry I am for you. I know how much you loved and cared for your wife and child, and how much they loved you as well. I wish I could say more, but I there is nothing else I can think of to say. When I received the news, I went to Clydebank to get their bodies. Since you would have been the only relatives left for Shona, I made sure all of them were giving honors. Shona's mother and sister were buried in Clydebank's cemetery with their neighbors. I brought Shona and Maisie back to your estate and buried them in our town cemetery. Everyone sends their deepest condolences and I wish I could be there for you now._

_ Deeply sorry, your brother, _

_ Tristan_

Stephen looked up from the letter slowly. Instead of seeing the drab barracks and the lost boys in uniform, he was looking a lovely house out in the Highlands, sheltered by rolling green hills and low cloud. Behind the house sheep grazed endlessly. But in front of the house, that was what Stephen could see most vividly. In the flower and vegetable garden a young woman worked tirelessly in her simple, but pleasant green working dress. Her dark brown hair was pulled up revealing her pale, flawless face with high cheekbones, thin, pink lips and light green eyes. As she worked a little girl in a flowery dress ran around the garden, playing her own games. She eventually ran out the picket fence and into the fields to pick the wild flowers of the moors. That was Shona, his wife, tending the garden as she always loved to do. And there was Maisie running freely in her innocent way.

Stephen didn't have any grasp of time or place at the moment. So, when Luke touched him lightly on the shoulder, he jerked in surprise. He blinked and his vision was gone. With that, another thought came to him. That vision had been of his home, family, and freedom. But he now knew that he had lost all of it. A home and freedom would be an empty void without his Shona or Maisie. Stephen came to the sudden realization that he no longer had a reason to fight; fight for survival, fight for a family, a home, a country, freedom for tyranny. Because whatever was achieved in the end would mean nothing to him. He would never be whole again.

Stephen blinked as he felt tears building up in his eyes. He looked up and saw Peter and Luke looking down at him with concern. The others in the barracks appeared to know nothing but their letters. Stephen looked back at Peter and Luke.

"Yea?"

"You alright, mate?"

Stephen blinked again and stood up quickly. "I'm goin' outside fer a bit." He walked past them to the door.

"We're confined to barracks," said Peter.

But Stephen said nothing more and went outside. Peter and Luke looked at one another.

"It must be bad news," whispered Luke.

Peter just nodded. He looked back to Stephen's bunk, but the Scot had taken the letter with him. "We should just give 'im some time."

"What about the guards," asked Luke.

"They'll just bring 'im back 'ere," said Peter.

They sat in silence for a moment, before neither of them could take it any longer. They hurried outside. Stephen was on the side of the barracks seated on a bench staring at his letter and sobbing. At first, Peter and Luke were so shocked they just stood there. Then, they ran to him.

"Stephen! Stephen, what happened?"

Luke got to him first and sat down beside him. Peter stood some feet away, quite unsure how to deal with this. He wasn't good at comforting people or helping them when things went emotionally wrong. But he knew Luke could handle it.

Stephen just handed him the letter while he shook with sobs. Luke looked at it and then handed it to Peter. Peter read it quickly, and immediately his anger boiled up. He turned around and punched the barracks wall. Luke glared at him as he put an arm around Stephen's shoulders. Peter squelched his anger some in order to keep his composure for Stephen's sake.

"Stephen," said Luke softly. "I'm really, really sorry. But it's going to be okay. Because now they can watch over you."

"No, no, no," sobbed Stephen.

Peter started pacing and Luke went on.

"I know it's unjustified to you and us, but there must have been a reason," he said. "Remember what you told Peter on the march, when we were almost executed? You said that when God says it's your time, it's just your time. God had a reason for taking them."

"But why," asked Stephen, with another gut-wrenching sob. "Why? It's Maisie! Maisie is onlay five years old! Five! And did all o' Clydebank have tae go? Why did so manay people have tae die?"

"I don't know," said Luke. "I wish I did. We all wish we did. But Stephen, its war—"

"They're civilians," cried Stephen. "Women, children, old men, old women, people who don't belong in war."

"None of us belong in war," said Peter suddenly. "But we're 'ere." Stephen looked at him, and Peter came to stand in front of him. "We don't belong 'ere, but we're still 'ere. An' we can't give up."

"Give up," echoed Stephen. "Why shouldnae I give up? Wot's left fer me back there?"

"Your freedom," answered Luke forcefully. "Freedom. And the world's freedom."

"I couldn't live in that world," said Stephen. "Not without Shona and Maisie."

"Listen," said Luke. "What if we weren't in a war right now? Pretend it's before. What if they had died some other way? Some other way that wasn't justified either: a fire or a train wreck? Would you have given up then? Probably for a bit, because that's natural. But you would keep living. You would still keep living for them and their legacy they left behind. Because it would mean that much to you." Stephen stared at Luke. "You can't give you here, though. Not long. Because you're definitely not alone here. You have me, and Peter, and Marcel and Louis. There are people here that need you, because we all need one another to get through this. To make it out alive, to get back to the freedom, we need everyone. You can't give up."

Stephen shook his head. "But…but they're gone."

"Hey!"

All three looked up to Berg who was standing down the barracks, looking at them.

"Vat are you doing out here? Get back inside!"

He started to approach them, and Peter quickly walked up to him to slow him down. In a low voice, he said. "Look 'ere, Bergie. Me mate Stephen got some bad news from 'ome. 'E lost family. 'E just needed some air an' privacy, so that's why we're out 'ere. But we won't be doin' anythin'. Does it look like we are? No, we're just talkin' nice an' quiet right there, an' I promise we'll be in shortly. We'll be back in before you call us for dinner. Promise."

Berg looked skeptical but nodded. "Fine. But if you are not, it vill mean the cooler. For you."

"Me," asked Peter. "Not even them?"

Berg smiled. "You, Corporal Newkirk, is who goes in the cooler."

Peter made a face, but Berg left them alone. He turned back around where Luke continued to console Stephen. Peter sighed wearily and leaned against the barracks.

"Peter," Stephen asked.

Peter looked up. "Yea, mate?"

"How long for the tunnels?"

Peter shrugged. "I dunno. It's goin' so slow."

"I need oot," murmured Stephen. "I need tae get home."

"We all do," said Luke. "We all want to get home."

***** ***** *****

June 24, 1941

This was the day that the officers decided they would begin pressuring Major Duerr and the Kommandant for some of their privileges back. The one they insisted on trying for first was to have fraternization between the British and French. They did not converge all on one day, but Géraud spoke first.

"Major," he said to Duerr in his office. "The morale is too low. Compounded with news from home, the men are only getting antsier. Unless you want eventual trouble I suggest you give us a bit more freedom."

"I simply cannot," answered Duerr. "Rules are rules. I will not allow you to converse with the other side of the camp any longer."

Géraud's argument dwindled from there, as it appeared Duerr was not going to budge. The warning was passed on through Peter before Lawrence went in for a jab.

"We all have friend on the other side," argued Lawrence. "If we could just talk to them for a little while. You can keep us split up during work; I understand your point there: less talk, more work. But by splitting us up, the men only hate you more. They already believe that you are the source for all their trouble."

"I am not here to appease them," said Duerr flatly. "I am here to keep them in prison. I have no care for their emotions. You are all prisoners and that is what my job tells me to keep you as. Therefore, that is all I see you as. You are dismissed, Captain."

The officers argued again for another two days, but both were sent away feeling as if they had lost. However, on June 30th, they were surprised when Duerr announced the for the rec hour only, would the camp be integrated. After a tiring month some began to believe that with this small victory coupled with Jöchmann's absence for some time, meant that times were looking brighter.

But for some like Stephen, freedom was the only way that things could look brighter.

* * *

On March 13th and 14th, 1941, Clydebank in northern Scotland was bombed. Eight out of 12,000 homes were left undamaged. 528 people were killed and another 417 injured. 35,000 were made homeless.


	35. The Order of the Camp

**Chapter Thirty-Five: T****he**** O****rder ****of the C****amp**

July 5, 1941

The day was beautiful. The day was sunny, breezy, not too warm for the middle of summer, and the sky was spotted with harmless clouds. The day was perfect for the camp's football tournament final. The whole camp was squashed in and around the British compound where the game was being played. (The English had argued that it should be played there because they, after all, had founded the beautiful game of football.) The guards were uneasy at first with so many prisoners crammed into one place, but once they upped the numbers on _their_ side, they were more comfortable and patrolled that side of the camp easily enough. Most of the prisoners really were watching the game, though, and what a game that was being anticipated.

For three days, at rec hour, the tournament between an English team, Scottish team, Irish team, French team, and Welsh team. Now, the final had come between the French and Scots. All the British were naturally supporting their closest kin the Scots, so the game quickly became a source of playful rivalry between the British and French. Still, the comrades sat amongst one another, and thus so were Peter, Louis, Luke and Marcel gathered on the sidelines. Stephen would have joined them had he not been Scotland's goalkeeper in the game.

Since the terrible news from home, Stephen had certainly been different. His depressing mood was obvious. He hardly smiled, and when he did it was force and pained. He was having trouble seeing any good in the world anymore. When he was asked to play keeper for Scotland in the tournament, he was reluctantly. He also believed that if he did anything joyful it was like he would not be honoring the memory of his late wife and daughter. His friends vigorously dispelled this thought, but it still plagued him. Finally, though, if anything more than to get his friends off his back, Stephen agreed to play keeper.

He could not lie that playing the games helped him. Out there, he felt less like he was enclosed in a prison that kept him from home. His concentration was on the game, keeping his thoughts away from the sadness that came from every time he thought of his dear Shona and Maisie. It was an escape. His friends saw this, and though his lighter mood hardly lasted long after a game, when it was present it was a comfort. At night, though, it was the worst. When everything was still and quiet, he could only think of what he had lost.

But today, with this big game, undoubtedly the most signifying positive event the camp had seen in a couple of months, Stephen was determined to make something good of it. He was determined to push aside the grief. Football had always been his favorite sport, keeper his favorite position, and so many times at home he had played with his brothers and friends. He remembered showing off to Shona as a young lad, and the first time he had tried to play with Maisie. Those were the memories he would be keeping with him today out on the dusty pitch. He would enjoy himself out there, and have them with him.

His goal was fulfilled. The game was everything the prisoners wanted it to be: exciting, fun, and an escape. The rivalry between the British and French was entertainment in itself as they sang and chanted the rowdy football melodies. It got to where a point that the two sides were simply yelling at one another to see who could sing the loudest. It was highly amusing to the Germans. Even the Kommandant and Duerr watched from the office window.

"It's a good match," observed the Kommandant.

"Despite the fact that none of them are professional footballers," said Duerr.

"For all you know," replied the Kommandant pointedly.

"Right," murmured Duerr. He stood up. "Brandy, sir?"

"That sounds nice, Major," answered the Kommandant.

The toasted one another as they continued to watch.

The tense game ended when Berg blew the whistle signifying the end of the recreation period. The British side erupted with joy; the score was 1-0 to the Scots. They rushed the pitch in a very football-like manner and put the Scottish team on their shoulders. Louis tried to help Stephen get up, but Louis's size was not up to it. Instead Marcel had to assist.

Stephen's eyes were tearful mostly because he was enjoying himself and all the time wishing that he could say the same for Shona and Maisie. Luke, sensing his thoughts shouted up to Stephen:

"I'm sure they are having just as much fun where they are!"

Though it was supposed to be the end of rec hour, the prisoners were taking their time in separating themselves to go to their respective barracks. The guards, sensing no anger from their superiors, urged the prisoners on very unenthusiastically. Berg was exasperated with the prisoners' attitudes, especially with Everley darting around him in his usual mischief. The light mood was welcoming, though, since June had been quite a stressful month with no interruption in the gloominess.

Ten minutes after roll call, the men were still mixed across the camp, but primarily still in the British compound. This was how they were when the staff car was spotted. The car was spotted by the guards in the towers who shouted down to those at the gate. The shouts gained the attention of the prisoners, and all watched as the staff car came into camp. With it, an uneasy feeling came over the prisoners as they wondered who was inside.

When Jöchmann and his aide stepped out of the car into the compound, the tension ins the camp rose quickly. The prisoners in the British compound froze, and those near barracks slipped inside. To avoid being noticed was the idea. Stephen, Luke, and Marcel escorted Peter and Louis to the side of one of the British barracks. Peter and Louis did not object.

They watched as Duerr exited his office and met Jöchmann on the compound.

"I thought the camp was to be segregated, Major," said Jöchmann curtly.

"It is," replied Duerr. "But I chose to allow them time during their recreation period." He was not intimidated.

"Really," asked Jöchmann "What made you think that you could do that?"

"I thought the prisoners deserved some time with their comrades and I asked the Kommandant for his approval," said Duerr.

"I wonder what gave him the idea that he could approve it," said Jöchmann.

"Perhaps because he is the Kommandant of the camp," suggested Duerr sarcastically. Some of the prisoners could not help but smile.

"I thought we had cleared this up the last time I was here," said Jöchmann. "Though you two remain in charge of the prisoners' status, the regulations of the camps remain under my charge."

"Yes, _that_ was clearly stated, but you very unclearly stated your _new_ regulations," said Duerr. "Your words, I believe, were: 'the prisoners need more discipline and less fraternization between each other'. I promise you, _Sturmbannführer, _that was all done."

"You are pushing the envelope too far, Major," replied Jöchmann with disdain. "And you will regret it." He turned and looked at Berg. "Get these men into formation immediately. I do not care where they belong at this moment, just get them in formation!"

Berg hesitated and looked at Duerr for a confirmation of the orders. Duerr gave a quick nod, and Berg did as he was told. In less than a minute, the prisoners were lined up in no order in front of Jöchmann and Duerr. The Allied officers called their men to attention and the turned to their captors at attention. Jöchmann looked over them all, and it was quite obvious that he was displeased with them.

"Their appearance is un-uniformed and disorderly," he stated to Duerr. "Prisoners of the Third Reich must know the same discipline as the Third Reich does."

"Ah, yes, because you surely do the same with your prisoners," shot back Duerr with equal ferocity. "My prisoners are simply allowed to relax some after their work."

"Work," scoffed Jöchmann. "I saw these men at work, and it is obviously not enough."

"They are not supposed to be dying," said Duerr. "They are supposed to be working and staying alive so that they can work more. Unlike you, we do not have a seemingly unlimited supply of workers."

"Soon enough," said Jöchmann. "You will, when the British and French are more courageous in their ways of regaining the lands they have lost." He sneered at the prisoners. "If they are brave enough."

"I'd like to think we're quite brave, sir," called Luke from the back. "We hit, but you guys hardly hit back anymore. I wouldn't be questioning _our_ bravery, sir."

Luke was too far in the back for Jöchmann or Duerr to see him. But those around him were giving him incredulous looks. His close friends were biting back comments in hopes of Jöchmann not taking an interest in the back anymore. Their hopes were futile, they knew, and this was confirmed when he started walking through the formation to the back where the voice had come from. Duerr, Berg, and Jöchmann's aide followed closely.

When Jöchmann spotted Peter, Louis, Luke, Stephen, and Marcel standing in the last row, eyes dead ahead and trying to look invisible, he smiled and went straight for them. Duerr set his lips in a thin, annoyed line. He should have known it was one of these men.

"Well," said Jöchmann, as he stepped in front of them. Luke was on the end, beside him Peter, then Stephen, Louis, and Marcel, and the rest of the line. "It was an Englishman who spoke, and you all have distinct enough voices." He looked at Luke. "I trust you have not forgotten your unwise move that day at my camp?"

"How could I," asked Luke. "I quite liked how it felt to deck you."

The prisoners who Jöchmann had his back to snickered slightly. Those he faced kept their composure out of fear. Jöchmann was clearly agitated, and for a moment he was still. But suddenly he backhanded Luke across the face. Everyone flinched and Peter, who was next to him, started forward, but stopped himself. Jöchmann noticed though.

"I would not move if I were you," he said with a gleam in his eye.

Luke steadied himself and looked resolutely back at Jöchmann much like he had to Haussler on that fourth night of the march across France. But here, he felt stronger. He had a background in it now. Jöchmann was trying to stare Luke down, but Luke would not budge. He stuck out and hit Luke again; this time a punch right in the jaw. Luke staggered back. Peter, unable to help himself any longer, caught Luke before he could fall. He helped him straighten up. Just as Peter was about to go back to attention, Jöchmann struck out on him, slamming a club into his gut. Peter doubled over and then stood back up quickly, trying to hide the pain.

"I warned you not to move," said Jöchmann. But he seemed pleased.

"Then stop 'ittin' 'im, an' I will," growled Peter.

"Your prisoners speak their mind, often, Major Duerr," asked Jöchmann.

"Only when we think we must," replied Louis. He was looking across Stephen to Jöchmann, with his eyes filled with contempt.

"It will be the cooler for all of you," said Duerr sternly, imploring them with his tone to _shut up_.

"There is an easier way to teach," said Jöchmann. A second later, Luke's head was snapping back for the third time.

And quite suddenly, Stephen had covered the ground between him and Jöchmann in an instant before anyone else could move, and hit Jöchmann across the face so hard, he fell to the ground.

"DON'T YE EVER HIT THAT BOY AGAIN!"

"Stephen! No, please, don't shoot!"

Marcel's cry was too late, because Jöchmann's aide had already set his mind to the task. There was a staccato of fire, and Stephen crumpled to the ground.

Prisoners hit the ground so fast the compound was flat in seconds. Those who were left standing were confused guards and those in the back who were frozen out of shock at the turn of events.

Luke and Peter were staring at their feet where Stephen now laid, his eyes wide and unseeing, and his jacket bloody from the wounds he had just taken. Louis, all fear of blood forgotten, was quickly kneeling beside him, trying to wake him up. Marcel started to pull Louis away out of fear that Jöchmann's aide may fire on someone else. Jöchmann stood up quickly, touching his cheek tenderly. He nodded to his aide, signifying his approval. Duerr and Berg were stunned. For a moment, the world was slower, and then it came back to action when Peter moved suddenly.

If Louis and Marcel beside Stephen had not encumbered his path, Peter could have ended up dead as well. As it was, Peter tried to scoot around them as quickly as possible, his target: Jöchmann's aide for revenge. Louis and Marcel did not see him, and Luke was frozen in shock. It was the most unlikely person that saved him…but perhaps not so unlikely.

Peter was intercepted by Duerr, who had taken Jöchmann's club for himself. He swung it and caught Peter under the chin. Peter hit the ground hard, and it was enough time for Berg to take control of him, even as he began to struggle.

"No! No! You killed him, you ruddy monster!" he was glaring at Jöchmann and the aide, who were looking disgustingly smug.

"You murderer! Why'd you 'ave to do it? Why?!"

Over Peter's shouts Duerr said: "Berg bring him to the cooler."

Berg complied, and started dragging Peter away who in his blind fury had only one goal: get to the aide. Duerr then turned back to the prisoners at the scene. He called another guard over.

"Escort them to the infirmary," he ordered. "They are to remain there until I say."

"Get up," ordered the guard. "Bring your comrade." Louis and Marcel gently picked up Stephen at his shoulders and legs. They started walking. When Luke would not budge, the guard yanked him forward and pushed him on. "Come. Get going." Luke followed his friends on his own powers.

As they left, the prisoners who had hit the deck got up slowly. Out of respect for their fallen comrade, they took their hats off and bowed their heads.

"Everyone into their barracks," yelled Duerr. The guards started blowing their whistles. The prisoners quickly obeyed. Géraud and Lawrence approached Duerr, who held up his hand impatiently.

"Not a word," he said. "Into the barracks."

"Sir," began Géraud. "One of our men was killed—"

He was cut off by Duerr. "I said into the barracks now or there may be more fatalities."

The officers fumed but could did not know how to safely retort to that with Jöchmann and his trigger-happy aide close by. They simply turned away and went inside. When the compounds were cleared of prisoners, Duerr looked to Jöchmann and his aide, and clearly taking control of the scene, pointed to the office. "I suggest we continue to talk in there, gentlemen."

Without another word, they took it to the office.

Luke sat down on the bed next to where they had laid Stephen. He was too shocked to really do anything. Everything had happened so fast. Was there something he could have done?

"'E was not the same," said Marcel quietly. "It was the letter. 'E would not 'ave done it if 'e that letter 'ad never come."

"It would have come sooner or later," murmured Luke. "It just had to come when Jöchmann was around." He spat the name out like venom. "What now?"

"I need to find Pierre," said Louis. He stood up quickly with determination.

"He is in the cooler," said Luke.

"I know, but I need to go to 'im," said Louis. He started out for the door, but Marcel grabbed his jacket and pulled him back.

"You cannot go out there," said Marcel. "Peter was put in the cooler so that 'e would not get 'imself killed. They put us in 'ere for that same reason. Just stay, Louis. 'E will be fine."

"_Non_," said Louis. "I must go to 'im. 'E will be chewing 'imself out for all of this." He tried to wrangle out of Marcel's grasp but Marcel did not let go.

"_Non_," said Marcel. "Stay 'ere." He pushed Louis down into a chair.

Louis glared up at him. "You cannot tell me what to do. I _am_ going to see Pierre."

When he tried to get up again, Marcel pushed him back down. "Actually, I _can _tell you what to do. I outrank you, remember. Now, _stay here._"

Louis was about to talk back, but Luke interrupted him.

"Not now, chaps," he said. "Not now." His voice was tired and worrisome, and it quickly melted away anything coming between Louis and Marcel.

"_Je suis désolé_," said Louis. "I am not thinking straight right now."

"I know," replied Marcel. "And I do not want to be rude, but I do not want to see you 'urt anymore either. Do not worry about Peter. 'E can take care of 'imself. I am sure Duerr will let 'im out once 'e quiets down."

They all got quite and looked back to Stephen, growing cold on the bed.

"I can't believe all of this is happening," murmured Luke in a pained whisper. He was voicing all of their thoughts.

Berg pushed Peter—who was still struggling—into the cooler cell. Quickly, Berg slammed the door shut. On the other side, Peter had made a dash for it, but only found himself slamming into the solid steel door and going nowhere. He heard the lock click, and it set off a terrible feeling of hopelessness inside him. Everything had gone wrong. Everything. They were supposed to all make it through. But he couldn't even keep one of his best mates alive. All because of that _creep_….Jöchmann.

The very thinking of the name made Peter's anger and frustration rise up again, and he punched the door as hard as he could. When that stupid move made his knuckles burn, a sudden exhaustion took over him. The adrenaline rush ended. He slid down to the floor against the door, and went still there.

Why, why, why?

About an hour later, Peter was in a reminiscing daze. He kept thinking about Stephen, and home, and everything good that he could remember. Sometimes he would come across a memory and could only just quite not remember a detail. It was tormenting and signified to him that he had been away too long. He thought about Stephen, and that terrible letter he had gotten. He was sure that if Stephen had never received such a letter, he would not have done what he had done to get himself killed. The rash move wasn't like him. Then again…did he do it deliberately? The thought was terrifying, but Peter wondered. If he had gotten a letter saying that Mavis was gone, what would he do? It would drive him crazy; he already knew that. The thought of Mavis at home, growing up and going further than anyone in her family, and being so successful made Peter want to fight harder than ever. If she was not there any longer, it would be as if there was nothing left fighting for.

But that wasn't true. They had tried to tell Stephen. There was still so much to fight for. Still, losing someone that close…it was enough to send anyone over the edge. And Peter was terrified of such a chance.

In his daze, Peter did not hear the cell door opening. He did not realize it until it moved. Startled, he jumped back, and scooted away quickly. Looking up, he saw Duerr standing in the doorway. Peter glared as the man stepped inside.

"Come to tell me 'ow foolish a move it was for me to try an' 'ave a go at that ruddy SS chum," spat out Peter. He stood up, but Duerr hardly seemed intimidated.

"No," answered Duerr. "I am fairly sure that when I hit you with club you got that message."

Peter admitted to himself that it was true; his chin already felt like a bad bruise was coming on. But he still glared at Duerr.

"Yea, why'd you do it anyway? You'd already let that creep walk all over us. You'd already let 'im kill some poor prisoner."

"You act as if that man did nothing. He struck a superior officer—"

"You think I give a damn! That doesn't warrant enough to get shot!"

"It does in the SS!"

"Wot about the Wehrmacht? Wot about you?"

"You think I would protect your friend? He was the man who stepped out of line."

"Really, I thought it was Jöchmann all this time. 'E 'asn't stopped messin' with us since 'e found us. An' us prisoners—well, we thought you 'ad it under control. We actually trusted you. We 'ad _faith_ in you, that you'd keep 'im away. So, wot 'appened?"

They had subconsciously gotten inches away from one another, but neither of them were thrown off about it.

"I will only tell you the order of the camp these days," said Duerr calmly. "I watch out for my Kommandant, then myself, then my men, _and then _my prisoners." He stepped back.

Peter gave him a sharp nod. "You think it's supposed to be that way." His tone was cold and heartless. "Every man for himself."

"It is war, Corporal," said Duerr. "That is what happens in war."

Peter shook his head. "You're wrong. The prisoners will stick together. It's not every man for himself for us. It's survival."

"One day," said Duerr, as he walked to the door. "You will learn that more men out there are going to save their own lives before anyone else's."

And then he left.


	36. A Step in the Right Direction

**Chapter Thirty-Six: A S****tep ****in the ****R****ight**** D****irection**

July 6, 1941

The mood of the camp changed dramatically. The only remnants of the cheery mood before was the lines of the football pitch still drawn on the compound, the two makeshift goals on either end, and the football still lying out in the compound, looking very lonely. The shock of Stephen's death had come over everyone, even some of the guards. It had been too unexpected. Now, fear ran through the prisoners, as they wondered when Jöchmann would make his next appearance, and who the next victim may be.

Stephen was buried in the prisoners' cemetery; alongside many of the men he had buried during the pneumonia epidemic. Louis, Luke, and Marcel dug his grave. Peter remained in the cooler, alone with his thoughts. When Stephen was laid down in his grave, many attended the little service. Berg even escorted Peter out there for him to watch; but at a distance. Still, Louis would not let him go back to the cooler alone. He told Berg he was coming with them. Berg allowed it, saying that if Louis wished to spend a day in the cooler, that was his choice.

Peter was quiet on his opinion until they were left alone in the cooler.

"Why are you 'ere?"

"To make sure you are okay, _mon ami_."

"Minus a sore chin, I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Yea."

"Pierre, stop fooling. We all just lost a friend."

"Well, maybe I already got over it." Peter turned his back to Louis, his arms crossed. "Why don't you just leave?"

"_Non_," answered Louis. "I am locked up in 'ere for a day anyway. But I will not stop bugging you until you talk to me. I know there is something bothering you."

"It's nothin'."

"I do not believe you."

"Fine, Duerr just said somethin' that got me thinkin' was all."

Louis barely heard it, but reacted ferociously. "What? What did 'e say? Did 'e threaten you? You just tell me and I will tell _Commandant_ Géraud and 'e will take care of it."

Peter turned around with an amused smile. "It's okay, Louie," he said softly. "Duerr didn't threaten me."

Louis's expression softened. "Oh. Then what did 'e say?"

Peter told him what Duerr had said about the order of the camp and what he thought would happen amongst the prisoners.

"_Oui_, it is wrong," agreed Louis. "But you told 'im right. You told 'im that we would stick together. That is what we will do."

"But I'm not so sure anymore," said Peter.

"What do you mean," demanded Louis. "We would never betray each other."

"We wouldn't," asked Peter skeptically.

"You think I would betray you," asked Louis, hurt and surprised.

"No," exclaimed Peter, alarmed. "Never. I would never even think that. I'm talkin' about the prisoners in general, as a whole. Look, we don't know everyone in this camp; not really. And I certainly don't trust everyone in this camp. I was stupid to think I could in the first place."

"Well," said Louis. "No one said it was going to be a walk in the park. No one said it was not going to be risky."

"I know that Louie," snapped Peter. "I've been 'ere the whole time. You an' me, we've done more than most blokes in the whole camp; we've done the riskiest stuff. But I'm tired of all these setbacks. I. Want. Out. Now."

"We all do, Pierre," Louis calmly stated.

"I know," said Peter. "But if I 'ave to watch another man die—especially a friend—I'm done. I'll escape by meself. An' you're welcome to join me. In fact, I implore you."

Louis shook his head. "I would not go. Not unless there was no more 'ope."

"'Ow much 'ope do you think is left around 'ere, Louie," asked Peter angrily.

"Listen," said Louis. "You told Duerr that we prisoners were different. If you leave without going through our plan, then you are only proving 'im right. Is that what you want?"

"I wanna go 'ome," said Peter, not caring that he sounded like a child. "I want peace for a change. I want to remember what peace is." He paused. "I'm tired," he finally gasped out.

"_Oui_," said Louis. "So get some sleep in this cooler while you can. Because there is a bigger fight to be fought when you get out."

Peter looked up at him. "A bigger fight…"

"Right, something bigger than you or me or even this whole camp," said Louis. "Something I would die for. Something we were fighting for before we were prisoners. Something our friends died for, and something we thought we were going to die for a year ago. Something we were willing to die for a year ago. But we are still in it. Or, at least I am. Are you? We can still fight from 'ere. We can 'urt the Boche by escaping. As prisoners, it is all we can do, but if we do our job, then we win. We might die trying, but the point is: we did not give up. We did not succumb to this treatment. A friend may die, but we cannot give up, because then 'e died for nothing. Pierre, if I die, my only wish is that you will find peace one day, but I would 'ope always that you could fight on more. We can never let the Boche get inside us. Because when they do that…that is when they certainly and most definitely win." He took a breath. "Got it?"

Peter's expression softened. "Yea, I got it."

"_Bon_," said Louis.

The silence was awkward.

"Now what," asked Peter.

"You can get some sleep," suggested Louis.

Peter just nodded and stepped back against the opposite wall. Louis backed to his wall and did the same. They fell into silence, and Peter actually closed his eyes. Louis, now officially bored and beginning to regret coming in here for a day, sighed and closed his eyes as well.

"Is this what you do when you come in 'ere all the time," asked Louis. "Sleep?"

"Try to," muttered Peter. "I'm usually not bein' annoyed by little Frogs."

Louis opened his eyes and saw Peter smiling with his eyes still closed.

"Well," said Louis, pretending hurt. He closed his eyes again, and tried to settle into a more comfortable position.

After a few minutes, Louis really thought Peter had fallen asleep. But he was mistaken when Peter said:

"Thanks Louie. For everything."

The following day, upon release, Peter and Louis found the camp nearly transformed in attitude. The officers had ordered work on the tunnels to continue relentlessly. Surprisingly, the recreation hour was kept as it was on that terrible day: the British and French were permitted to integrate themselves for that one hour. During that hour, most of the efforts were being channeled to preparing for a good escape. A list was already being drawn up for the order of escapes. As promised, Peter and Louis were placed at the top. However, they said that they would not leave unless Luke and Marcel were placed with them. The officers did not object and it was done. The next spots were picked as planned, and were basically drawn out of a hat. Twenty-five spots were filled up and that was when the officers called it off until more of the tunnel was completed.

The report on the tunnels was that the one going from the infirmary had about a week left. The one in the recreation hall, which was pivotal, had about a month left. It was a longer distance, originally, and had had many setbacks because of events in camp. The officers decided that the one in the infirmary would be used at the same time as the one leaving the rec hall, so more people could get out.

The diversion would have to be another show, but the officers were not going to approach Duerr now. The disciplinarian was in a terrifying mood of late. It appeared that Jöchmann had not been able to gain too much ground on Duerr but that it might have cost he and the Kommandant.

August 9, 1941

The rec hall tunnel was completed. The infirmary one had been completed for two weeks already. The prisoners were now anxious to get going. The Géraud approached Duerr about the possibility of another show to boost morale. Duerr flat out refused, saying that morale seemed fine to him, and there was no reason for another show. In short, Géraud reported back that Duerr was not taking any chances right now. Well, the prisoners were determined to find a way around this.

"Maybe we could prove that our morale is low," said Lawrence.

"How so," asked O'Neill.

"An escape," answered Lawrence simply. "Someone makes a go for it. We can get them into the infirmary for a night, and they run for it."

"That in itself will boost the prisoners' morale," argued Géraud. "And we then run the risk of losing privileges."

"But it will make a statement," said Lawrence.

"Perhaps," murmured Géraud, deep in thought.

"I guess we will recruit Corporal LeBeau or Corporal Newkirk," asked Noël. He started to get up and leave.

_"Non," _said Géraud. "Not them."

"Why," the others asked.

"They would want this chance," said O'Neill. "They are first on the list so send them out. They might even make it."

"If they go, the morale of the camp will go up," said Géraud. "The men like them and always cheer for them. It has to be someone that is unexpected to go and a shock enough that the men really would be affected by it."

"So who would that be," asked Lawrence.

"An officer," answered Géraud."

"An officer!" The three lower grades looked at the _Commandant_ in confusion.

"You are going to go," asked Noël.

_"Non,"_ answered Géraud. "Lawrence is going to go."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Why?"

"Because you have a background with some of them that they do not appreciate."

"How do you know that?"

"I was checking up on everyone," answered Géraud. "The story came out, but I assure you no one has any more hard feelings. The all believe that it was just because of the rough times during the march."

"Which it was," Lawrence hastily said.

"Do not worry. I trust you," said Géraud. "And they trust you too. However, an officer escaping makes a larger statement than just some other prisoner. If the officer—the man who is supposed to be keeping the moral of the men up—escapes, then that means something has really gone wrong. And if _you_ escape, I bet past sentiments will come out. Then, the morale of the men will start going down."

"Okay, then," said Lawrence steadily. "It makes sense. So, should I really try to escape?"

"Your call," answered Géraud. "At this point, with what we know now, no one could actually blame you for leaving."

Lawrence sighed. "I will come back. I don't want my name to be mud. In fact, I will just hide out in the woods for awhile until they find me."

"That is good enough," said Géraud. "And when you come back, and we get what we need, I will explain to the men what really happened. Your name will not be mud."

"Thank you," said Lawrence.

"But," said Géraud, looking all three lower officers. "For this to work and have the maximum affect on the men and Duerr, no one else can know about this. We will only tell them the truth _after_ it has all gone through. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Géraud looked at Lawrence. "You make your plans on how you will leave. Good luck."

"Gee, thanks, old chap for the support."

"Anytime, _Capitaine_."

August 13, 1941

The men came back from work in their usual mood of being very tired and grumpy and looking forward to the rec period. Of course, they had to wait for the other work details to come back. While they were waiting, Lawrence put on his façade and began to act really sick. O'Neill went on with it. Lawrence coughed a lot and complained about his chest being real tight. He gave himself a hoarse voice as well. The prisoners around him were concerned. After some time and enough people aware of his condition, they began to insist he get checked out by the medic. In the act, he originally refused, but even more people began to insist, fearing another epidemic. So, Lawrence complied and went to the infirmary. Duerr was made aware of his illness by the medic, Wilkerson, who was also fooled by Lawrence. Duerr began to fear another epidemic as well, so Wilkerson kept Lawrence overnight. Come roll call, Lawrence was discovered missing.

As anticipated by Géraud, the prisoners were furious, especially the British. They felt cheated. Even though some were sympathetic and said any man had a right to escape if he could, the overall mood was that they had been betrayed. Naturally, the prisoners turned on O'Neill, to see if he knew anything. Once again, as it had been on the march, rank was thrown out the window. The British were all over O'Neill. It was only after a few coolheaded people got into it that things were calmed down and it was determined that O'Neill knew nothing.

Duerr raised the alarm immediately. The two medics were thrown into the cooler for their assumed involvement. Honestly, they didn't know anything either. They had been asleep when Lawrence left. The infirmary was inspected thoroughly by guards looking for a tunnel. Every prisoner held their breaths while waiting for the verdict. But the guards found nothing. Afterwards, Géraud persuaded Duerr to release the medics under the logic that they would have escaped too had they known.

Surprising to many, Lawrence was only captured about three hours later. He was sent straight to the cooler, and this time, no one objected to seeing one of their own put in the cooler. They teased him for being caught so quickly. Some felt pity for him; other only scorn. Géraud let is all pass because it was needed.

A few days later as the mood settled down some, Géraud approached Duerr about having another play. Although Duerr seemed almost compliant, he still refused. Géraud decided more mischief needed to be done.

_"Caporals LeBeau et Newkirk,"_ asked Noël.

Géraud nodded. _"Oui_. Tell them to do what they want. Do not escape; create mayhem."

"Mayhem, eh," Peter echoed thoughtfully with a gleam in his eyes. "Sounds like somethin' up our alley, eh Louie?"

_"Oui, Pierre_," answered Louis, rubbing his hands together.

Noël smiled. It was the beginning of the recreation hour and he had just given Géraud's request to the two corporals. He was confident they would get something done.

"I will leave you two alone to scheme," said Noël. "Need anything?"

"Can you fetch Luke and Marcel for us," asked Peter. "Sir?"

"Of course," said Noël. "Just do not forget who I am."

"We will not," called back Louis.

When Noël returned with Luke and Marcel, the two were anxious to find out what was going on.

"We've got orders to create some mayhem," explained Peter.

"We are inviting you two to participate," said Louis. "It is--of course--voluntary. We all know that creating mischief these days is never a good idea."

"Well, only if the creep shows up," said Luke.

"Right," said Marcel. "So, I am in."

"Me too," added Luke. "I'm bored otherwise. And you chaps always have the fun."

"If you want to sit underneath this stage all day and sew civilian clothes, be my guest," said Peter.

"Okay, okay," said Marcel. "Settle down. We do not need a fight. With the tension these days you will 'ave the whole camp involved."

Peter rolled his eyes, but Louis grabbed his arm.

"Wot?"

"We will start a fight."

"Are you barmy? Didn't you just 'ear Marcel—it would be…" Realization struck him. "Louie, you're a genius."

_"Oui. Je sais_."

"So, can we do it now," asked Luke eagerly.

"Certainly," answered Peter. "Louie, you an' me will get into an argument, and start pushin' each other. Luke, Marcel, you try an' break it up. Then, we'll start throwin' punches."

"Fake, right," asked Luke warily.

"Of course," answered Louis quickly. "Though, when people actually think it is a real fight, some real punches will probably be thrown. But it would not be realistic if that did not 'appen."

"But the goal," said Peter. "It's to get as many involved as possible. So, when people start gatherin' around, knock 'em about to get 'em into it."

They all nodded.

"Okay, let's do this," said Peter.

They went outside, and when they passed Noël, they winked at him. He walked off to find Géraud. Outside, Peter suddenly started talking as if they had been arguing for some time now.

"'E was bein' a ruddy traitor," he said loudly. "An' that's all I've got to say about it."

"Well, I do not see any reason to why someone cannot escape if they want to!"

"Because we've got an agreement!"

"Hey guys," said Luke. "Keep it down."

"Still, 'e was always a little off, even in the march."

"You were stupid enough to steal the potatoes."

"So we could eat a little better that night!"

"You know what: I am not surprised that a thief like you would not have already escaped. You talk about a traitor—"

Peter pushed Louis hard. "Traitor? I'm turnin' me back on me country!"

Louis pushed Peter back. "Lawrence was not turning on 'is country. 'E decided to try and save 'is own skin! Which is what thieves do!"

Peter grabbed Louis's shirt collar and pulled him close. "You ruddy Frog, 'ow would ever know? I bet you're some toff who's never even gone 'ungry before!"

Marcel stepped forward quickly and tried to make Peter let go of Louis. "Let's settle down boys."

Peter pushed Marcel away. "Back off Frog. This isn't _your_ fight."

Louis wrestled out of Peter's grasp. "Do not push 'im!" He 'hit' Peter in the gut.

"Alright, that's it. You asked for it Louie!"

Peter 'hit' Louis back, punching him in the jaw. By this time, a crowd had formed around them because of their argument. When punches started being thrown, the crowd came closer and started cheering. Marcel and Luke tried to break them apart and in turn got pulled into the fight as well. They staged it as a fight between the French and British. That really revved the crowed up and made tension go up between spectators. The four fighters started bumping the crowd and knocking the right people so that they started really fighting one another.

After another minute of the ruckus, the guards stopped blowing whistles and started firing shots into the air. That made everyone hit the deck. The guards made everyone stay down that was in the area. Those not around wisely moved away to watch from a distance. Géraud arrived on the scene coincidently at the same time as Duerr. The two officers got everyone up and in a terrible looking formation. Uniforms were dusty and bedraggled. Some men were sporting black eyes, swollen cheeks, busted lips, or bloody noses. Some hats and jackets were still strewn out on the ground.

"So," said Duerr. "You all decided to start a flight club? This is not the streets gentlemen. You are in the military and now in a military camp. Discipline is the only club here. Unfortunately, it seems that this has been lacking of late. So, because of this latest escapade, I believe no one will mind that your lunch rations will be taken away for one week." This elicited moans and groans from the prisoners involved. "No rec hour for two weeks, and lastly the guilty party who started this will be sent to the cooler for the next two weeks."

Everyone looked at each other. It looked like no one was going to fess up and tell on Peter and Louis.

"Berg," said Duerr. "Put Corporals Newkirk and LeBeau in the cooler."

"You can't do that," argued Peter. "Just because we were involved doesn't mean we started it!"

_"Oui_," said Louis. "It could 'ave been any of these men."

"I decided it was you two," said Duerr. "Berg, take them away."

_"Kommen Sie," _said Berg. _"Raus!"_

"Okay, okay," muttered Peter. "We're rausin'."

Peter and Louis stepped forward and allowed themselves to be escorted to the cooler. As they passed Duerr, Peter smiled. "You were right, you know."

"I know," assured Duerr with a twitch of his lips. He looked at Géraud. "Recreation hour is over, _Commandant_. Have your men go back to their appropriate barracks."

As they were off, Luke said to Marcel. "I kind of like this. We help start the mayhem but don't get in trouble for it."

"It is all about first impressions," said Marcel. "We simply 'ad better first impressions than Peter and Louis."

In the cooler, Peter and Louis settled down after Berg closed the door on them.

"I guess they don't really care about the whole solitary part anymore," said Peter.

"That is fine with me," said Louis.

They fell into silence and Peter closed his eyes.

"Pierre?"

"Hmm?"

"You did not mean anything out there, did you?"

"No, never."

"Okay."

Louis lay back against the wall as well.

"Louie?"

"Hmm?"

"You didn't mean anythin' either, did you?"

"_Non_."

"Okay, good."

More silence.

"That was fun. We should do that again one day."

"If we ever need mayhem again, we can do it then. But I do not see why we would need to do something like that again."

"Yea, me neither."

The next day, Géraud was summoned to Duerr's office.

"Okay," said Duerr. "You were correct that your men are falling out of line. However, I cannot guarantee a show again. With our new…overseer…that will be difficult. I will try, though, to make it possible for you to do something. I know that Jöchmann is leaving in a month for a conference in Berlin. I suggest that you plan your little play for then. But the punishments given yesterday still stand. And should anymore mischief occur, you can consider your play out of the question."

"Yes, sir," answered Géraud. "I understand completely, and I will make sure that my men understand as well."

"Good, now get out."

Géraud spread the word about the play, and the word was also spread that Lawrence's 'escape' and Peter and Louis's 'fight' had all been a part of a ploy to make it happen. To everyone fooled, it was the best joke yet. They were another step closer to getting out of there.


	37. Good Night and Good Luck

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the long wait between chapters. There was a lot going on the past few weeks, plus it was a longer chapter than usual. I hope you enjoy this, cause a lot happens!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: G****ood**** N****ight ****and**** G****ood**** L****uck**

The itch to escape had become more irksome because of its impending reality now that the tunnels were complete and a date set for the event. But the itch was subdued some by the return of hard work. Harvest was nearing, and the few farmers that the prisoners supported were demanding more attention to their crops if the Germans wanted good results. Harsh rains returned after a good two-and-a-half weeks of a drought. The rain swelled the river, and once again a flood was feared. This called for the deepening of the ditches and placing sandbags around the perimeter of the farms and camp. The tiring work left little energy that week for escape plans.

But after the rain spell ended and life returned to normal, more thought was given to the escape. Details were worked on thoroughly. Men were given spots in line to escape during the appointed time. As they were given a spot, they were given ID papers created by Peter and his crew of forgers and some clothes tailored by Louis and his crew of tailors. The diggers perfected the recreation hall tunnel by widening it and making it slightly taller. They also wired electricity into it or lights so that they wouldn't have to use candles anymore. A committee was formed to organize the show in correspondence with the escape.

All of this went down each day at rec hour, always looking forward to the greatly anticipated day of September 18th.

August 24, 1941

"Twenty-five days."

Shovel. Toss.

"Twenty-five days, and we're 'ome free."

Shovel. Toss. Shovel. Toss.

"Twenty-five days and I'll be on me way back to English ale and biscuits."

"Peter, if you don't mind, please stop."

Peter stopped shoveling and looked over his shoulder at Luke. "Wot; I can't daydream about 'ome?"

"Daydream to yourself, then," said Luke. "Because you're going to drive me around the bend if you don't stop. I want out just as much as you do, but I can hardly wait and you're just making it worse."

Peter smiled. "Fine, fine." He went back to shoveling out the dirty hay in the barn stall.

A few minutes later, they heard Polish shouts coming from outside. Peter and Luke looked at one another curiously before going to the door and looking. Not far from them were Farmer Jakowitz and Berg, arguing loudly.

"Wonder wot this is all about," said Peter.

"Hey! Look! A puppy," exclaimed Luke. He pointed and sure enough on the other side of Berg, sitting at his feet, was a German Shepherd puppy. Peter cocked his head curiously and then groaned when Luke took off.

"Oi! You can't just walk on over there! We're supposed to be workin'!" But he followed anyway.

Luke causally ambled over and walked around Berg to see the puppy. He picked it up—which it enjoyed—and brought it around for Peter to see. Berg certainly noticed it, but was too enthralled in the argument to care at the moment.

"He is rather adorable," said Luke. He held him in his arms like a baby, and scratched his belly.

"Sure," said Peter as he patted the dog's head. "Until 'e grows up into a charmin' guard dog." He scratched underneath the dog's chin. "OW!" He drew his hand away quickly and held his finger. "He ruddy bit me! You certainly are goin' to be a good guard dog!"

"He's teething," explained Luke as if it were obvious.

"Right, and one day soon enough 'e'll be _teething_ on our legs," argued Peter sorely.

It was then that Berg decided to ignore Jakowitz and turn his attention onto his prisoners. He picked the dog up by its neck fur and set it on the ground. "Now, back to vork."

"Okay, okay," said Luke calmly, before Berg got worked up. "We just wanted to see the puppy."

"No, _you_ wanted to see the ruddy dog," said Peter. "I just came along to keep you out of trouble."

"Trouble? What could I have possibly done—"

"Where Mac?"

Peter and Luke turned around and looked at Jakowitz. Berg was looking annoyed.

"Never mind," said the guard. He pushed Peter and Luke forward. "Back to vork."

"Wot's 'e talkin' about, Bergie," asked Peter. "Who's Mac?"

"Do not vorry about it," snapped Berg. "Now _raus!_"

"We're rausin'," said Peter, throwing up his hands in defeat.

"Mac is Stephen, right," asked Luke quietly. Peter looked at him, realizing that made perfect sense. He turned on Berg quickly. "You never told Jakowitz?" It was no secret that Peter was angry. When Berg didn't respond quickly that was all the answer Peter needed. "Why didn't you tell him? Trying to hide the tragedy from the locals? It's not like they don't know we're prisoners. At least tell them the _whole _truth."

Berg scowled at Peter. "It is not any of your business—"

"It is too my business," snapped Peter. "Stephen was my friend. And the way you treat his memory is definitely my business. Now, why don't you tell him what happened?" He paused. "You can or I will."

"You cannot even speak _Politur_," said Berg.

"I'll learn the words if I need to," replied Peter determinedly.

Berg shook his head. "I really did not think that _Landwirt_ Jakowitz needed to know."

"Rubbish," retorted Peter. "Stephen was the sheepherder. Jakowitz deserves to know wot 'appened to 'is sheepherder."

Berg sighed and looked at Jakowitz. Peter and Luke watched Jakowitz's expression change, and they only assumed that Berg had told the truth about Stephen. Jakowitz sadly shook his head and muttered something under his breath. Then, he picked up the puppy and walked off.

"That dog is going to replace Stephen," stated Luke knowingly.

"_Ja_," said Berg. "The Kommandant sent him."

"The Kommandant," echoed Peter and Luke.

"_Ja_," answered Berg hotly. "There a problem?"

"No, no," said Luke. "Just a surprise is all. I can't figure that man out."

"You are not meant to," said Berg. "None of us are. Just Major Duerr."

"They seem to know one another rather well," said Peter. "You know why?"

"I know nothing more than you do," answered Berg. His expression turned hard. "Now back to vork—"

"_Raus!" _said Peter and Luke simultaneously. They scurried off back to the barn, and picked up their shovels to resume working.

"Just twenty-five days left o' this."

"Peter!"

Despite everyone's eager anticipation, all knew that the reality was that many would still not escape. The plan was meant to have many go, but saying that they would all go home free was just fooling oneself. And then, of course, there were those who were being left behind. There were those who knew they were too far down the line to really have a good chance of getting away clean with anything. Everything would depend on appearance to the Germans when the time came. The minute anyone thought the room looked too empty was the minute the escape would end. Everyone knew this.

So, those who knew they weren't getting out devoted their minds to creating enough schemes and ploys to make it look like the room was packed with prisoners as the last show had been. They planned on creating distractions periodically that would demand the Germans' attention to something else besides numbers. These men dubbed themselves the Emcees and everyone was grateful for their cooperation despite the fact that they weren't going anywhere.

The leader of the Emcees was a surprise to everyone. It was Lawrence. Although Géraud had promised Lawrence an early slot out for his escapade, Lawrence declined it. He said that his absence would be noticed and that his place was here with his men. He wouldn't leave the men without someone to speak for them. Géraud was staying for the same reason, but had long ago said that. But everyone had believed that Lawrence would go, because many of the men trying to escape were the same ones he marched across France and Germany with. But his decline of escaping brought him further respect.

On September 2nd, Géraud stood in Duerr's office wondering why he had been summoned so early. The French had just gotten out of breakfast, and it wasn't like Duerr to summon the officers so early for anything. Géraud assumed it meant bad news. Duerr entered his office a few minutes later. He saluted Berg and then sat down at his desk before acknowledging Géraud's presence.

"I brought you here to personally inform you that the show on September 18th has been cancelled."

"What…why," stammered Géraud, caught off guard. He quickly composed himself. "The men will not be very pleased about this."

"I do not expect them to be," answered Duerr shortly.

"What is the reason, then?"

"Jöchmann's trip to Berlin was cancelled." When Géraud did not immediately respond, Duerr continued. "Well, that is all. You are dismissed." Duerr saluted, to which Géraud returned half-heartedly.

"What do you mean cancelled," cried Louis amongst similar dissenting cries from his countrymen.

The Frenchmen were gathered between the barracks when Géraud gave the bad news. After the cries died down enough for the officers' voices to be heard, order was restored so that Géraud could explain. When he was finished, it was quiet as everyone digested the information.

"Now, go back to the barracks," said Géraud. "Settle down before they call us for work." While everyone left, Géraud called for Louis.

"_Oui monsieur?_"

Géraud slipped him a note, which Louis pocketed quickly without looking. "That needs to get to Lawrence."

_"Oui monsieur."_

Louis walked off quickly and grabbed Marcel's arm as he walked by. They went to the edge of the compound and Louis looked around.

"The British didn't have breakfast yet, did they," asked Louis.

Marcel looked at his watch. "Not for another five minutes, why?"

"Good. I need to get something to Pierre. Now, act sick."

"Now how is that—"

"Just do it. Trust me." Louis walked out in front of the barracks so that they were a few yards away from Corporal Prinz, a guard they were familiar with. Louis gave Marcel a look.

"I have a stomach ache," said Marcel awkwardly.

"Act like it," urged Louis in an impatient whisper.

Marcel looked confused, and then suddenly Louis elbowed him hard in the gut. Reflexively, Marcel doubled over and gave a little groan. Prinz looked over, and Louis went into action.

"Marcel? Marcel, are you okay? Talk to me, _mon ami_."

"You aren't getting away with this Louis," muttered Marcel with annoyance.

"I had to get you in character," whispered Louis through his teeth. "Marcel, are you alright?"

"Oh, _mon Dieu_, my stomach hurts," moaned Marcel dramatically.

Louis looked around frantically. When he spotted Prinz, he called out to the guard. "My friend isn't feeling well. Please, take us to the infirmary."

Prinz shook his head. "I cannot."

Marcel moaned louder, and Louis nearly went into hysterics. "Please! He is in so much pain! Look at him!"

Marcel started rambling on in French about the pain in his stomach which had spread to his head. He squeezed his eyes shut in faux agony. Louis looked at Prinz again. "Please! Just take us to the infirmary. The medic can take care of him."

Prinz hesitated but finally gave in. "_D'accord_. Come quickly."

"Gladly," muttered Louis, who pretended to support Marcel as they left the French compound. When they got to the infirmary, Prinz gladly left them alone with the medic. When he was gone, Marcel smacked Louis across the head.

"Ow!"

"That's for elbowing me in the stomach!"

"I suppose you two aren't really sick," asked the French medic Corporal Blanc.

"_Non_," replied Louis quickly. "I needed to get out of the compound. Keep Marcel here for the day. He could use a rest."

Marcel looked at Louis with confusion. "What? Louis, I'm going back when you do."

"Just stay here," said Louis. "Take a break while you can. Besides, the Major will have your head for faking ill."

"It was your idea," muttered Marcel. But Louis just smiled and went to the door. Looking out through the window, he could see the British prisoners leaving their compound on their way to breakfast. Perfect; they would pass right in front of the infirmary, where Louis would get Peter's attention. Sure enough, when they passed, Louis stepped outside. With a nod to the Brits, they knew he had a message for Peter. Peter was shuffled to the side, where he met Louis at the infirmary steps.

"Wot's wrong," asked Peter. "Why are you at the infirmary?"

"Distraction," replied Louis quickly. "But do not worry about it." He grabbed Peter's wrist so that he knew he had note. Peter palmed it from him and it disappeared. Louis quickly looked around. "Did you hear about the cancellation?"

"Yea," murmured Peter bitterly. "I can't believe it. I've no idea wot comes next other than to escape on me own." He sighed. "But I'm not. Not without you, Luke, and Marcel."

"I know," said Louis. The line was moving on, which would make their conversation noticeable to the guards. Louis shook Peter's hand. "I'm sure the answer is in the note."

"Right," said Peter. "It'll be in Lawrence's hand in a tic. Bye."

_"Au revoir."_

Prinz came back to the infirmary and took Louis to the French compound. Immediately Louis went to Géraud to report that the note had successfully been passed on.

_"Monsieur," _said Louis. "I have one question."

_"Oui?"_

"Was the note about what we are going to do next to escape?"

Géraud sighed and nodded. "I was about to let the men know what comes now." He looked Louis in the eyes. "It is every man for himself."

In the mess hall, Peter sat down beside Lawrence. Beneath the table, he handed the officer Géraud's note. Lawrence dropped his eyes down to read it: _Reign free_. Lawrence looked up slowly, obviously deep in thought. Peter watched his expression.

"Sir? What is it?"

"The escape committee is in favor of freelance escapes. Good luck."

September 18, 1941

"Well, since this was the day we planned anyway, I guess I'll enjoy this escape attempt," said Everley.

Peter handed a scarf. The nights were getting chillier. "Enjoy it but don't lose your 'ead. Be careful out there."

"I will," said Everley. "Say, when are you goin' to 'ave a go at this?"

"When I can arrange it that Louis, Luke, and Marcel come with me," answered Peter.

Everley shook his head, but didn't say anything when he heard footsteps approaching around the side of the barracks. Peter and Everley ducked behind some crates. But when they peeked around, they saw that it was only Dean. They stood up quickly.

"Okay, I'm ready," said Dean.

"All right, chaps," said Peter. "You look great. Now, let's go."

The three started off for the fence, dodging spot lights in the process. They stopped between two barracks before running into the no-man's-land. Then, as the two spotlights of the guard towers in front of them turned the farthest away, the three ran for the fence. The angle right in the middle of the towers was too steep for the guards up there to spot them, even with a spotlight. Quickly, Peter pulled out a little hacksaw he had "confiscated" from the Jakowitz farm. He had already started on this little section of fence. It took about fifteen seconds for him to finish it. Everley and Dean slipped through and went to the next fence. They had about a minute to get through it before the guard on patrol came around. But the wire there was thin, and they were through quickly. They handed the saw back to Peter, and then slipped through. Being so dark outside, they disappeared in seconds. Peter didn't waste any time standing around. He watched the spotlights and when they turned away, ran back to his barracks.

Inside the barracks, everyone slept unknowingly except Luke. Once he saw Peter come back in and lie down, Luke went to sleep. No one else had known of the escape attempt. That was how it was now. No one talked about their escape attempts because the less who knew the better. Many feared that if someone knew they were trying to escape, more people would try to jump in on it, possibly blowing the cover. Since everyone knew this, it was now custom to say "Good night and good luck" when telling someone good-bye at the end of the day. They got this from someone's letter from London who described that when saying good-bye, Londoners added "good luck" because of the Blitz. There was a chance that whoever you were saying good-bye to might not be around in the morning. The prisoners simply turned it into a more optimistic meaning.

In little escapades that Dean and Everley had just done, a small number was most important. Otherwise, they would have attracted attention. This was why many of the British went to Peter to confide in their escape and get help. They knew he wouldn't try and jump in since he had already vowed not to leave his friends behind. It was likewise for Louis with the French. Both had easy access to the civilian clothes and papers they had been working on for the mass escape. Luke and Marcel were also in on it and became messengers for Peter and Louis when they were helping someone.

Escape attempts had been going on since the cancellation of the show. That very night, there had been an attempt. But they had been recaptured the following day. They were given thirty days in the cooler as usual. The cooler was now more occupied than it had ever been. Surprisingly, Jöchmann had not shown his face yet. Everyone knew it was just a matter of time. They had gotten used to the fact that he showed up unexpectedly. So, it was the thought that now was your chance, so take it.

The following morning, the cut wire was found also with the absence of Dean and Everley. The barrack was torn apart in search of more evidence. Each man in the barracks was strip-searched as well. This was the procedure the guards had taken to since they found evidence of more escape tools in another barracks. Duerr wasn't a fool. He knew that other prisoners were in on the escapes for the sake of helping. In another barracks, he had found that evidence. But since then, nothing had tuned up. Still, no one had had a successful escape. He was confident that it was the same story for Dean and Everley.

Three days later, they were back at camp, looking much like Peter had when he had been recaptured. After being questioned, they were tossed in the cooler for with a thirty day sentence.

"Well," said Peter, watching as Everley and Dean were brought to the cooler. "That's the eighth failed attempt. The odds certainly aren't in our favor."

"I just wish we could talk to someone," said Luke. "Find out what went wrong out there so we know what to expect."

Peter nodded. "But we've still got fourteen days before the first chap is let out."

"That's Timon, right," asked Luke.

"Yea," said Peter disapprovingly. He still hadn't really forgiven Timon for what he had said about the Cockneys. Although they still shared a barracks and worked together, they only talked when they had to. When Timon was released, Peter knew he would _have_ to. Luke was right; they needed information.

So, on October 3rd, when Timon was released from the cooler, Peter was one of the first to greet him. Though Timon was shocked, he still knew it was important for him to give up information. After he cleaned up with a shower and got a shave, Timon settled down to tell his barrack mates everything that had transpired. It was a typical escape through the wire one night, but he the reason he was recaptured so quickly was because the SS were camped out not far in the woods just waiting for escapees. They were out there in well crafted trenches and bunkers watching the woods all night in camouflage. Timon said he practically ran right into their arms. This was proof that Jöchmann was still watching even from afar.

"It's really like a war zone out there," said Timon. "And they're everywhere too."

"Well, some people 'ave lasted more than three days out there," said Peter. "So there 'as to be a way to get around them."

"We were talking in the cooler about it," said Timon. "Morse code. Some of the guys noticed it before they ran into it. But they said it took them so long to get around it all, that when they finally made it past, the Wehrmacht were on the other side, making it nearly impossible to go on."

"This is crazy," said someone. "We'll never get out. Even if we do get to use the tunnels, if we run into that, it won't matter."

"Did you notice 'ow extensive it was," asked Peter. "'Ow long their trenches were and such?"

Timon shook his head. "It was too dark. I didn't get to see it in the daylight."

Peter nodded. "We'll just 'ave to wait till more people get out of the cooler."

Timon's information was given to the officers, and more word was given once others were released from the cooler. After a month, though, they had little else to go on. No one could say for sure how extensive the SS had made their trap. But those like Everley and Dean—who had gotten through—said all it took was careful watching of the troops. It was just that it took them too long to do that, at by that time the Wehrmacht was simply waiting for them on the other side. With this information, everyone felt really trapped.

"The escapes are goin' to 'ave to be from outside camp," said Peter to Luke one day early in November. "Like me and Louis did before."

"But how are the four of us going to be able to get together outside the camp," asked Luke. "Even if we're on the same farm, we're still separated."

"It'll 'ave to be when we're all together then," replied Peter. "Either at the beginning', at the end, or when we're marchin'."

Luke was silent a moment. "I'm in favor of when we're on our way there or back."

Peter nodded. "Me too. And on the way back would be best. It will get darker sooner, givin' us more cover."

Luke smiled, anticipation rising. "Now we just need to tell Louis and Marcel."

"I'll take care o' that," said Peter.

Though recreation hour had lost many of its privileges—including the integration of the prisoners for the hour, and the use of the recreation hall—there were still other ways to communicate. Talking through the fence was too risky when speaking about escapes. The guards were more wary now than ever about prisoners planning escapes. But the mess hall was still useful. Peter and Louis left notes for one another in the crook of the legs underneath the tables. They had designated a table for themselves to pass the notes through, and every day checked it. The following morning, Peter left a note at breakfast. That evening, Louis found it at dinner. It read: _Tomorrow coming home._

The note had two meanings to Louis. The escape would be tomorrow and it would happen while they marched back from work. Louis showed it to Marcel at the table. Marcel just gave a sharp nod. Louis tore the note up and threw it in the trash.

The following day, as they got in line to march back into camp, Peter, Luke, Louis and Marcel situated themselves parallel to one another. There was always a line of Frenchmen on one side of the road, and a line of British on the other. Peter had Luke in front of him, ready to grab him the instant he saw the opening. Everley and Dean, who Peter had confided in, were going to create a diversion.

It wasn't long after they had started the march back to camp that Dean and Everley did their thing. Everley suddenly stumbled forward and then grabbed his ankle when he fell. Dean descended on him like a mother hen, making the loudest fuss ever. Everley rolled helplessly on the ground crying out for his mum.

"Brilliant," muttered Peter. As the prisoners dramatically gathered around, the guards went with them, and that was when Peter grabbed Luke's shoulders and pushed him into the woods. Peter was right behind him. They dashed about twenty yards in and took cover. Peter chanced a look back to the road. Louis and Marcel were nowhere in sight.

They waited until the march moved on, Everley groaning with every step as he walked between Dean and Timon. A few minutes later, the escapees heard their comrades whistling. This let the escapees know how far away they were. When the whistling died away to nothing, Peter gave a bird whistle of his own. It was returned immediately. Peter and Luke stood up cautiously, looking around and then inched towards the road. They stayed on the forest side of the ditch and watched as Louis and Marcel made their way over. With a quick glance to the road, the two Frenchmen dashed across the road and met up with Peter and Luke.

"Okay," said Marcel. "Where to now?"

"We need to go west until dark," said Peter. "Then at dark, we go north."

"And of everything goes as planned," said Louis. "No one will know we are gone until this evening's roll call. Which means the ground we cover between now and dark is the most important."

"Right," said Peter. "So, let's get crackin'."

They moved quickly and cautiously. Though worried about running into SS in trenches, they nerve ran across one soldier. They never saw another soul all day. They figured that the SS had positioned themselves closer to camp, only ready for those escaping from camp. This was a lucky break they took advantage of. They came across roads and other farms, but the country hid them well with plenty of woods and hills. By the time the sun was setting, they had reached a creek that ran from the ridgeline in the north.

"If we take this," said Peter. "It should bring us straight to ridge I crossed. But we'll be much further east, which should give us an advantage."

"'Opefully they think we went directly north," said Louis. That had been the idea from the beginning, and they all prayed it worked.

They followed the creek then, and about four hours later, in the dark, they came to the river that ran at the base of the ridge. It was deeper than before, but by holding onto one another, they were able to ford it. From there, they went up the ridge, which was not as steep and rocky as where Peter had climbed it. This allowed them to get up it quicker, and when they reached the top around 0100 hours, they took a break, eating some bread that they had kept for the occasion. After that, they walked north on the ridge till dawn. There, they made shifts to keep watch while they slept for the day. They were surprised, but happy when they made it through the day without incident. At dusk, they ate some more, and then moved on for the night. They opted to remain on the ridge and move north.

At midnight, they stopped for some rest and to take inventory of their supplies.

"Another day's worth of food and water," said Luke.

"There are farms down below," said Marcel. They had seen town lights an hour earlier. "Do you think we could go down and steal some things?"

Louis looked at Peter who shrugged. "The stealin' isn't the 'ard part. It's makin' sure we don't get caught down there by troops. That's 'ow I got picked up last time."

"But we still need food," said Marcel.

They were silent for a moment.

"Okay," said Peter. "'Ere's wot we'll do. I'll go down, an' if I'm not back in two 'ours keep goin'. Cause that probably means I've been caught."

Though their first emotions told them no—they could not leave him behind—they all nodded reluctantly. Whether they liked it or not, it was what had to be done. Without another word about the matter, Peter started off downhill.

Fortunately, a little less than an hour-and-a-half later, Luke caught sight of Peter coming back up the hill quickly. He had a satchel with him, and after being warmly welcomed back into their little camp. He quickly emptied its contents: a loaf of bread, some cheese, another canteen, and two blankets.

"Where exactly did you go," asked Luke.

"Some ruddy farmhouse," answered Peter. "Everyone inside was asleep, so it weren't 'ard. I just didn't want to push me luck so took wot was in sight."

"Good idea," said Marcel. "Pack it away, and we will keep going until dawn."

"Righto," said Peter, and he quickly packed it away for the night.

"Not a trace of them has been found, sir," reported Duerr to the Kommandant. "Not even a trace of their escape from camp. I don't even believe they escaped from here; that obviously wasn't working. I think they escaped from outside camp."

"It makes more sense," agreed the Kommandant. He shook his head with annoyance. "They were certainly thinking hard about this one." He pulled out a map from the desk and unrolled it. The two looked over it. He pointed to markings and lines around the Stalag, the Oflag, and Jöchmann's camp. "These are where the SS hide out." He then pointed to the farms outside town. "This is where we assume they escaped from."

"Which means they were outside the entire perimeter," said Duerr. "They planned that."

"And that wasn't the only thing they planned," replied the Kommandant. "Corporal Newkirk was recaptured here last time." He pointed right on the other side of the ridge. "He won't go back that way."

"So you don't believe they went north," asked Duerr.

"No," answered the Kommandant. "They went north. But not like he did last time. North is definitely the quickest route to freedom. But look at the map. The most populated area closest to Bielski, is directly north. They've learned this. So, what if they took a more eastern course?"

Duerr studied the map. "That would put them up here, in these smaller mountains."

"Exactly," said the Kommandant. "Much better cover for escaping POWs. Corporal Newkirk was on his way there when we caught him last time. He will lead them that way. And for them to get that far so quickly wouldn't surprise me. Corporal Newkirk covered a lot of ground quickly before."

Duerr nodded. "I'll phone for troops in that area to search."

"Good," said the Kommandant. "Though they can travel fast, they cannot travel faster than communications."

"No sir," said Duerr. "Though they've done quite admirably."

November 8, 1941

Luke had the last watch that led into daybreak. He sat with his back against a tree, watching the sunrise through the trees. He list was really relaxed; being out here with his friends so far unnoticed by the enemy. But he knew they weren't out of the woods yet, which was why he kept his ears and eyes wide open for anything unusual. When the sun was nearly all the way raised he shook everyone awake. They each took some bread and the last of the cheese, downing it with some water. The cheese had been a surprising treat, but now it would be bread and water until they were forced to scavenge again.

While Peter was putting everything back in the satchel, Marcel suddenly squatted down behind a tree. Everyone looked at him.

"_Boche_," he whispered. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating that they were down the hill from them.

Everyone was silent and sure enough they could hear German voices nearby.

"Quickly," said Peter in a frantic whisper. "Let's get on the other side o' the ridge."

As silent as possible, they started running down the other side, taking a northeastern course. They stopped after about five minutes, breathing hard. They listened as they crouched behind trees.

"I don't hear anything," said Luke. "You think we lost them?"

"For now," replied Louis. "_Rapidement_. We need to keep moving."

They kept heading northeast at a quick pace, even jogging every now and then when they got spooked. Whether they were just hearing things or not, they didn't care. They preferred not to be caught. When they came to the bottom of the ridge, they found themselves at a road, which ran parallel to train tracks. A train of cattle cars stood still on it.

"Now what," asked Louis. "There are surely more _boche_ around. That has to be a prisoner train."

"We need to get back up on the ridge," said Peter. "We can make it up there by night."

"But Jerry is up there, too," said Luke.

"Maybe," said Marcel. "But Pierre 'as a point. "We're more likely to be caught down 'ere. It's too open."

"Ok," said Peter. "We keep 'eadin' north, but back up the 'ill."

They turned back, but Peter couldn't help but feel like he had before. Like someone who was trapped and the space they were trapped in was only getting smaller and smaller as they moved more.

And the space closed in quickly. The Germans were onto them, and they ran right into them as they moved up the hill. Going back down, the road left the vulnerable. The four escapees then chose to split up. Peter and Luke went one way, and Marcel and Louis another. They were caught only minutes after one another. After appearing trapped, Marcel and Louis tried hiding and waiting it out. But the Germans had brought their dogs with them, and they were scented out quickly enough. Peter and Luke were caught in a similar fashion, at least by the dogs. It was over quickly, and the miserable trip back to camp began.

"I'm beginning to believe that maybe there isn't a way out of this camp," said Lawrence, as they watched the four escapees get out of the truck and head to the cooler. "I mean, they had the best chance of late and they didn't even make it."

O'Neill shrugged his shoulders. "There's a way. There has to be. We're getting _out_ of camp. We just have to _stay _out of camp. That's where we're failing miserably."

Lawrence shook his head and tuned around to leave the compound. "You're right. And we've always known that the chances are slim to get out and stay out. I still think that having the mass escape is the best way. The more people out there, the more confusion, and it's easier for one or two to pass while someone else gets captured. Not nice, but that's one way."

"We just have to get a mass escape going," said O'Neill. "And right now, our tunnel puts us right into the hands of the SS."

This thinking was becoming common around the camp. The more failed escape attempts coupled with the fact that the SS were just out there waiting for them, brought the morale down low. Figuring a way to stay out of camp was becoming more difficult. Many were keen on just trying their luck; that maybe one time, they'll make it all the way. But it was a slap in the face over and over again when one didn't make it.

But then, the following week, Timon escaped again, disappearing during the march back to camp after work. He had not planned it, he just did it. And four days later, when he was still not recaptured, the prisoners were beginning to believe he had made it. A week later, with no trace of Timon to be found, it was finally concluded that Stalag XXXA had its first escape. Everyone wondered how he had done it. Most believed he had just gotten lucky. But whatever the means, the men rejoiced.

But they did not rejoice for long, because Jöchmann returned. There was another battle over the command of the camp. But it was settled in a day when a Wehrmacht general arrived and put his two cents in. He pointed out that one escape was bound to happen in any prison camp; even Jöchmann's who had already had five successful escapes from individual prisoners. With this fact, there was nothing more Jöchmann could do but to keep his current role has head of security in the area. The camp still fell under Wehrmacht control.

That was something to rejoice in, but the prisoners knew they would be punished still. Though Peter, Louis, Luke and Marcel were released from the cooler a week early, they found that privileges in the camp had diminished. There was no recreation hour, no permission to talk through the fence and security had tightened around work details so that talking even then was hard. You could not talk during the marches and anyone who did anything was given a day in the cooler. The camp was becoming a cold prison, even as the weather got colder.

December 11, 1941

"You're not goin' to believe it!"

Everyone in the barracks looked up when Everley burst into the barracks.

"Where've you been," asked Peter, ignoring Everley's outburst. "We thought you'd escaped or something!" Everley had been missing for about an hour after they got back from work. It had been snowing the entire time, so everyone was huddled up in the barracks, trying to keep themselves warm with distractions like card games and stories.

"I was playin' poker with the guards," explained Everley through fast breaths. He emptied his pockets and chocolate bars hit the table. "But you're not goin' to believe what I just 'eard."

"We might if we had the chance," said Luke.

"Yea, give!"

"The United States is in the war," announced Everley.

Everyone stared at him.

"Wot?"

"How?"

"Did the Germans attack them?"

"Are there any American prisoners?"

"Did this just happen?"

"Hold it," cried Everley. "Not all at once. Lemme just tell you wot 'appened!" He took a breath. "Okay, so I caught up with Berg when it started to snow and asked if I could play poker with him. They let me every now and then because I give them money and they give me—"

Get on with it!"

"So they had the radio on, an' there were these 'orrible German tunes playin' when it was interrupted by some kinda important broadcastin'. I couldn't understand a word but knew there were somethin' special about it, cause all the guards looked pretty serious. It was long, but when it was over, Berg told me I 'ad to go back to the barracks. I asked 'im what it said and 'e told me." Everley took a breath.

"Don't stop now!"

"I'm not, but it's a long story."

"You're the one makin' it ruddy long! Get on with it!"

"Okay, okay. So, anyway, the broadcast said that Germany and Italy declared war on the United States because the Yanks declared war on the Japs on December 8th."

"Why?"

"I'm gettin' there!" Everley took another breath. "The Japs attacked some US naval base on the 7th and killed a lot of their guys plus sunk quite a few ships apparently. It was a surprise attack, which got the Yanks all rallied up. Now, they're in it with us."

Everyone was quiet while they took in the news.

"Well," said Luke after a moment. "This is good. I mean, the Germans can't defeat Britain, France, _and_ the US. I mean, the US is huge. And last time they got in this, they were the ones who pushed the tide our way."

"Yeah, but it's a lot bigger than it was then," said Peter.

"Always have to be pessimistic about it," asked Dean.

"Just pointin' out the facts," replied Peter. "I mean, last time the war was over a year after the Yanks got in it. I doubt it's goin' to be that quick again. Jerry 'as a lot o' ground, as do the Italians and the Japs. And if the US is worried about all three just like the rest o' us, it's goin' to be a mite more difficult this time around."

"Still," said Everley. "I think the tide is in our favor now. Look at it: The Russians in the East, British, Yanks, and French in the south and west. For the Japs, US in the East, Russians in the West, and Brits and Aussies in the south. They can't go anywhere else."

"Right," said Peter. "But 'ow long is it goin' to take for them to go backwards?"

The next day, there was another escape attempt made by Torben from the French compound. He cut through the fence and darted into the woods. Though he knew that the SS would be waiting for him, he wanted to give it a try, as he had yet had one. But he ran into nothing. It was basically bad luck that he got recaptured. The cut wire was noticed quickly by a guard and he set off the alarm. Torben was caught in the woods outside camp, but he had good news. The SS were gone.

"They're gone! I walked around for a good fifteen minutes and I swear, they're not there anymore," Torben excitedly told Louis. Since he had been caught so quickly, Major Duerr had only given him three days in the cooler. Now, he was out, and spreading his news.

"We need to tell _le Commandant_," said Louis. He walked off with Torben on his heels. They found Géraud and Torben explained his findings.

"Good work, Private Arcenau," said Géraud. "Now, you two better get back to your barracks before you are caught."

When they left, Géraud looked at Noël. "I'm going to have a talk with Major Duerr. I think a show is in order."

Noël smiled knowingly while Géraud left.

"You think after everything your men have been doing, that I am going to reward them with putting on a show in the recreation hall," asked Duerr incredulously.

"It could be on New Year's Eve, or Christmas, sir," said Géraud. "A time when we _should _celebrate."

Duerr just blinked at him. "_Commandant_, I am under orders not to give you prisoners much leeway at all."

"Who's orders are those, sir," asked Géraud. "The Kommandant's or Jöchmann's?"

Duerr glared contemptuously. "You have no business asking those kinds of questions."

"_Excuser moi_," said Géraud. "But I wanted to know who we were battling here: the Wehrmacht or the SS."

"You are battling the Germans," answered Duerr.

"A house divided against itself cannot stand," countered Géraud.

Duerr smiled wickedly. "You think to quote to me sayings of dead American presidents?"

"Those are the presidents your new enemy looks up to," answered Géraud. "Maybe you should learn something about them so when they are marching on your doorstep again, you can maybe ease their tensions." Géraud smiled. "Then again, maybe not."

Duerr just shook his head with amusement. "Our house is not as divided as much as you think. We are still bent on defeating you, the British, and the Americans. Trust me."

Géraud just nodded. "Well, we're a bit off subject. So, no show?"

Duerr smiled. "On New Year's Eve. There is no work as before on that day. I will open up the recreation hall for one hour a day so that you can all prepare. But tell your men that if there is one more escape before then, the whole thing is off."

"Yes, sir." Géraud saluted.

The news was given to the camp, and the men rejoiced. Everything that had been going in preparation of the show and escape started up again. Dust was blown off the tunnel and supplies as everyone made sure everything was perfect for the night.

At seven o'clock at night on December 31st the rec hall was packed with prisoners and guards. Duerr and the Kommandant were there again, seated up front with the officers. Géraud went up on the stage to quiet his men down.

"Well, another year has gone by," he said. "This is the second New Year's we'll be celebrating in here, and we want to make it memorable. So, thanks to the Major and the Kommandant for allowing us this humble celebration. So without further words we'll start the show. I hope you have a good night, and good luck to all of our entertainers."


	38. Everything Unveiled

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: E****verything**** U****nveiled**

Before going back into the audience, Géraud went backstage. "Okay," he said, looking over the men. "The show ends at 2200 hours. If you guys do the best acting jobs you 'ave ever done, that should mean that quite a few good men get to escape. So, make it good."

"It will be, _mon Commandant_," promised Louis. "You will never see a better acting job."

"_Je sais,_" said Géraud saluted them all which they returned. Then he turned and left.

Lawrence turned to Peter and Louis. "There was a change of plans. You chaps are going to be the fifth act. We needed to make it look more realistic, and you chaps cannot disappear too quickly."

Though they were ready to go_ now,_ Peter and Louis nodded. They wouldn't have to wait too long. So, the first act went on, and Peter and Louis went to find Luke and Marcel. They found the two getting dressed in their escape clothes. Luke was in typical working class civilian clothes. Marcel—since he could speak German—was in a German uniform. This would hopefully get them further if they ran into anyone.

"Well," asked Luke.

"We're the fifth act," said Peter, as he straightened Luke's jacket.

Luke pushed his hand away. "It's fine."

Marcel chuckled. "How about me? It is not every day you are a _boche_ officer."

"You look _parfait_," said Louis.

"I didn't want a compliment," said Marcel.

"Okay, okay," said Peter. "Me an' Louie need to get take our seats so Major Duerr doesn't get too suspicious. You guys just keep quiet back 'ere. We'll be back in a tic."

"Give a good show," called Luke as they left.

Moments after they left, Lawrence came up to Marcel. "I need your help with something. Come with me."

"_Oui, monsieur_," said Marcel. Then he stooped. "Oh, but my uniform."

"Don't worry," said Lawrence. "It's dark out."

"Just be quick," said Luke. "Four acts to go and we're out of here."

"Don't worry, Private," said Lawrence. "He'll be back in no time."

The show went on smoothly, and after Peter and Louis's act, they went back out in the audience and pretended to sit down. Instead, two other people sat in their seats, resembling them. These good men were a part of the Emcee Committee. When they had their cover, Peter and Louis slipped backstage to get into their civilian clothes and gather their papers.

Luke came up to them. "Have you seen Marcel?"

()()()()()()

Marcel and Lawrence had left the recreation hall and gone back to the French compound. There was only one guard at the gate and, seeing Marcel's uniform, didn't question them as they past. When they were at a safe distance, Marcel gave a chuckle.

"This must be a good uniform," he said.

"Aye," answered Lawrence. "It passed its first test perfectly. "You will be fine tonight."

"Hopefully," said Marcel. He looked around. "So, what did you need me for, sir?"

"I noticed something over here," said Lawrence, pointing off to one of the barracks. "Something written in German and I'm not sure what it means. I mean, I don't want to miss anything now."

Lawrence stopped in the shadows of one of the barracks.

"It cannot wait, sir," asked Marcel. "You should get some guard to read it. I must get prepared to leave soon."

"No," whispered Lawrence. "It can't wait."

Marcel looked at him with confusion. "Sir?"

Lawrence took advantage of the confusion and in one swift motion threw Marcel against the barracks wall and stabbed a knife into his gut.

()()()()()()

"'Ow long 'as 'e been gone," asked Peter as he scanned the crowd.

"Lawrence came and got him right after you two left us," answered Luke.

"Alright," replied Louis carelessly. "So the job took longer than Lawrence had thought it would."

"Too long," muttered Peter uneasily. "Somethin' went wrong." He turned away from the crowd and looked at Luke. "You stay 'ere an' get our stuff together. Me an' Louie are goin' to get Marcel. When we come back, we'll go."

"Okay," said Luke.

"C'mon," said Peter. He and Louis walked out the recreation hall and looked around the building for Marcel or Lawrence. "Let's go check the compounds. Maybe they 'ad to go back to the barracks for somethin'."

"But Marcel was dressed as a _boche_," said Louis.

"He would pass," said Peter. "You an I spent hours on that ruddy blanket. It 'ad better pass the test. Besides, it's dark. They won't see 'is face well enough."

Louis shrugged and followed Peter to the French compound. The guard stopped them.

"Did you see a guard an' British officer go by," asked Peter.

"_Ja_," answered the guard. "They went that way. Why?"

"We need the officer," replied Louis. After a pause, he added, "Major Duerr sent them on an errand and 'e wants to know where they are."

The guard pointed off into the compound. "Go then."

"_Merci_," said Louis, and he and Peter briskly walked off.

"Good thinking," said Peter.

"I am a natural at it," answered Louis with a smug smile.

"Ok," said Peter. "Let's start lookin' in the barracks."

"Right," said Louis. "I wonder what they were doing."

"Who knows," said Peter indifferently. He headed for the barracks straight ahead and walked in. It was dark inside, as expected. "Marcel? Captain?" When there was no answer, he shut the door. He saw Louis disappear around the corner of the barracks. Peter made his way to the next one.

_"Pierre!"_

The harsh whisper made Peter sprint over to Louis, where he knelt beside a twitching shadow. Peter skidded to his knees beside Marcel, whose German uniform was gone. He wore just an undershirt and a pair of trousers. His skin was near blue from the cold; and from his impending death.

Louis cradled Marcel's head in his lap. "Marcel. Marcel—_Qui vous a fait ceci?"_ (1)

Peter pressed his hands over the knife wound to Marcel's stomach. But Marcel's condition was bad, and he was having doubts.

"_Qui vous a fait ceci?"_

Marcel's eyelids were low, but it was imperative that they knew. Peter gave Marcel's cheek a gentle slap. Louis was outraged, not realizing the complete importance of the information. Louis just wanted someone to release revenge on.

"Marcel," whispered Peter. "We need to know who did this to you."

Marcel opened his eyes, and he smiled at seeing his friends. But then he looked alarmed, as if he was only just sensing danger. _"Vous avez besoin de partir rapidement." _(2)

_ "Nous savons,_" said Louis. "_Mais qui vous a fait ceci?" _(3)

_ "Le Capitaine,"_ gasped Marcel. He started coughing up blood. Peter sat back on his heels, and put a hand on Louis's shoulder.

_ "Le Capitaine,_" asked Louis. _"Capitaine qui?"_(4)

"Louis," whispered Peter hoarsely. "We need to go. Now."

"_Non,"_ whispered Louis frantically as he watched Marcel's eyes shut slowly. _"Non. Marcel! Marcel!"_

Marcel took his last breath and went limp as Louis's tears fell on his face. Peter started to breathe faster in shock. _This can't be happening. _He looked back at Louis and grabbed his shoulder.

"C'mon, Louie," he said, this time more urgently. "We need to go."

"We cannot leave 'im," argued Louis.

"We've got to," snapped Peter. He yanked Louis up off the ground and started walking. "Didn't you 'ear a thing 'e just said. Lawrence murdered 'im. You know why? Cause 'e wanted the uniform. Lawrence is gone, mate. An' if 'e disappears, that means our time to get out o' 'ere is short. We need to go."

Louis was in a state of shock and didn't respond. He let Peter steer him back to the rec hall. There, they ducked backstage quickly and got dressed. Everley said Luke was down in the tunnel waiting for them.

"Wot's wrong," asked Everley.

"Don't worry about it, mate," answered Peter, his voice still hoarse. "We're leavin'."

Everley assumed that the two men were so grave because they were ready to go. He shook their hands quickly and watched them go down the tunnel. When they were down, Luke was there with one of the diggers.

"Finally," he said. "Where's Marcel?"

"'E's not comin'," answered Peter stiffly. He still had a firm grip on Louis's shoulder. "Go, Luke. Get down the tunnel an' go to the woods. Wait for us there."

"But—," stammered Luke.

"Go," ordered Peter.

Luke was shaken by Peter's tone, but quickly turned down the tunnel and started crawling. Peter gave Louis a little push forward so that the Frenchman would follow. Peter followed closely behind. By the time Louis and Peter go to the end, Luke had already gone out. There was one other man down there, monitoring the progress.

"You guys make that twenty-three men who've escaped," he said with a friendly smile. "Good luck chums. Send me a postcard."

Louis didn't respond but just went up the ladder quickly. Peter gave the man an awkward smile before quickly following Louis. When his head popped up at the top, he looked around. The tunnel had come up right inside the tree line. It could not have been more perfect. Louis stood by a tree not far from the tunnel exit, breathing heavily. He seemed to be trying to hang on to his emotions. Peter quickly climbed out and grabbed Louis's arm and started walking. Luke joined them.

"Are you guys going to tell me what's going on," he asked.

"Later," said Peter. "Right now, we need to get as far away as possible." He gave Louis a little push and they started running. Luke realized he wasn't getting any information out of either one, so he followed wordlessly.

Only minutes later, a shot was heard back at the camp.

()()()()()()

Géraud excused himself from the audience and went backstage. "How is everything going?"

"_Parfait_," answered one of the men.

Géraud looked around. "Where is _Capitaine_ Lawrence?"

The man looked around and shrugged. "I have not seen him since the beginning of the show."

Another man looked up. "He took one of the men with him to go do something. He said he needed help with something."

Géraud nodded. "_D'accord_. Keep up the good work." He slipped outside and started feeling his pockets for a cigarette. The he remembered; he'd left him in his barracks. Looking around, he decided he wouldn't be missed for a few moments. He walked at a quick pace back to the French compound. The guard, who had decided by now that the prisoners were being allowed to leave the recreation hall, didn't bother questioning Géraud as he passed.

Géraud walked quickly across the compound to the barracks and headed straight for his which was further in the back. But he stopped when something caught his eye: a man lying on the ground. He quickly went over to the man, and saw that it was _Caporal-chef_ Marcel D'Orléans. He also quickly saw that he was dead, and the source of his death was a knife wound to the gut.

Géraud was at a loss of what to do. By warning the guards, the escape would be called off. But this man had obviously been murdered, and it didn't sit well with Géraud that there was a murderer walking around camp. It could be a guard or a prisoner, and the latter chilled him more. It chilled him, because it fit. A prisoner who wanted to escape more badly than others knew; and it had driven him to murder. If that was the case, then Géraud knew he needed to find the man now, before he did more damage. He thought about the suspects.

Marcel had obviously not gone with his friends, who Géraud knew had already left. Perhaps they had murdered him? But for what reason? They needed Marcel for his German. Even if they hated one another, Marcel was possibly a ticket home. And Géraud was convinced that the men's friendship was too deep. It could not have been them.

Then, Géraud remembered what the man had told him back stage when he inquired about Lawrence. _"Mon Dieu."_

Could it be possible? Could Lawrence be the murderer? But why? How? How could the man have deceived them all? He had been a good officer all this time. He had cared for his men, helped their plans, and even sacrificed some of himself for them. So why would he turn now. Géraud could only see Lawrence as the murderer in the same light as seeing Marcel's friends as the guilty: it just couldn't be true!

Géraud stood up quickly. He still needed to get to the bottom of this. There was a murderer running around his camp, threatening _his_ men, and he needed to stop the man now. Géraud looked around, trying to decide what to do first. He needed to get help, and his junior officers were back at the recreation hall. Could he trust them? Well, he had to trust somebody. Géraud looked back down at the body, sadness tugging at his heart painfully; such a terrible way to die.

Suddenly, a shadow caught Géraud's eyes by the fence. He quickly crouched down in the shadows of the barracks, trying to obscure himself from view. It looked like a guard, and Géraud did not want attention brought to the murder just yet. He watched the guard pace a section of the fence a few times. Then the guard knelt beside the wire. Géraud's brow furrowed in confusion. What was he doing?

Then it struck him: Marcel had been wearing a guard's uniform. What if this was the man, in Marcel's disguise? Géraud got up and stalked towards the fence. He had to stop every now and then from the searchlights, but the man at the fence had placed himself at an angle where the searchlights could not reach him. Géraud watched as the man sawed his way through the fence and slipped through to the other side. Géraud glanced around, and then went after him. He surprised the man in the field. Quietly, he tackled his feet.

The man fell to the ground wordlessly. He turned around swiftly, with a revolver aimed at his predator. Géraud paled at the sight of the revolver, but paled more when he saw Lawrence's face.

"You," he gasped. "You…you _cochon!_" (5)

"Yea," said Lawrence, wriggling out of Géraud's grasp. "That's me."

Géraud slowly stood up as Lawrence did too. "How could you do this? How could you murder that man?"

"I decided I really did want to escape," replied Lawrence nonchalantly. "And he had the uniform that could fit me. It's not as if I didn't like the man."

Géraud was fuming. "You could have requested to escape," he whispered bitterly. "I would have allowed it. I had already told you that."

"I thought about it," said Lawrence. "But I realized I would have a better chance if I didn't escape with the regular crowd. I have this uniform, some papers I had drawn up for myself, and I'm going another way."

"How far do you think you are going to get," asked Géraud. "You are in a German uniform! You will be talked to often enough."

_"Ich errate, dass es gut ist, dass ich Deutsch spreche."_ Lawrence smiled wickedly. (6)

Géraud was shocked. "You could have told us sooner that you spoke German."

"Why," asked Lawrence. "It was a valuable skill that I decided to keep to myself should the occasion arise that I could use it to free myself. And before you ask any more questions as to how I'm going to escape, I have plenty of money. Some of my men, as well as your own Frogs, are experts at getting money from unsuspecting guards. I just went and took some from their stash. So, now I have a good deal of money to buy transportation. You needn't worry."

Géraud just shook his head in shock. "_S'il vous plaît, _rethink this. You are going to mess things up. You will mess it up for the men who are trying to escape. "

"I've realized this," replied Lawrence coolly. "And does it appear like it's stopped me? Let me go, and don't attract attention to this, and more men will be able to escape."

Géraud saw his point, but the thought of letting this murderer go…

"Go back," said Lawrence.

Géraud didn't move. "Lawrence, listen—"

"Go back," Lawrence warned as he raised his gun more slowly.

Géraud held his ground, desperate to get something accomplished. "Lawrence—"

Lawrence fired the gun, and then ran.

()()()()()()

At the sound of the gunshot, the show came to a halt. Prisoners froze, and the Germans leapt into action. Duerr and the Kommandant stormed outside as searchlights roved quickly around the compound. One guard stood beside a barracks, only his flashlight signaling where he was. Someone ran up to Duerr and the Kommandant.

"Sir," he said. "We found a dead prisoner!"

"That was the shooting," asked Duerr.

"_Nein_," answered the guard. "This man died from being stabbed."

Duerr looked at the Kommandant in confusion, and saw the same confusion on his superior's face.

"Put the dead man in the infirmary," ordered the Kommandant.

Berg rushed up to his superiors. "The wire is cut on the other side of the French compound. Outside, the French _Commandant_ is dead. He was shot."

Duerr's eyes flared. "Put him in the infirmary as well. Get the prisoners in formation, but don't tell them a thing. I want them out in less than five minutes!"

"_Jawohl, mein Herr_," answered Berg. He rushed off, calling for more guards to help.

Back in the recreation hall, the prisoners were covering up everything. Men were fleeing from the tunnel at both ends. The trap door below stage was shut and disguised, and prisoners started pulling off their own disguises and stuffing them quickly in hiding spots, praying it would be sufficient enough to not be found for a good while. Suddenly, the guards stormed into the rec hall, ordering everyone out. They went backstage quickly. Some men were still in their civilian clothes.

"_Was ist los_," asked a guard. "What are those clothes?"

"Umm," said Noël. "Costumes."

But the guard was not fooled. _"Steigen raus! Jetzt! Schnell! Schnell!" _When some of the men tried to take off their civilian clothes, the guard stopped them. "Go out as you are! _Schnell!_"

The prisoners quickly filed out in their usual formations. They slid in close to cover the gaps that escape prisoners had left. So far, no one knew how many had actually gotten out, especially sense at the end, many had just fled the camp. The guards began counting as Duerr and the Kommandant scrutinized the prisoners.

"Why are those men dressed like that," asked Duerr, seeing men in civilian clothes spotted around the formation.

"We found them backstage like that," answered one of the guards. "They say that they were costumes. But I don't believe that, sir."

"I don't either," murmured Duerr. He called some guards over. "Take a part the recreation hall. There is a tunnel in there somewhere and I want it found within the hour!"

_"Jawohl!"_

Duerr looked at the Kommandant. "Sir, I need to go make the necessary calls for security in the area."

"I will take care of it," said the Kommandant. "Stay here. When you know how many are missing, send that to me. When the tunnel is found, I want to see it."

"_Jawohl_," said Duerr. The Kommandant briskly walked away. Duerr grabbed a guard and told him to stand guard in the office with the Kommandant.

After a few minutes, Berg approached Duerr. "There are thirty-nine prisoners missing, _Herr Major. _Including the British officer, _Kapitän_ Lawrence."

Duerr cursed. "Okay, send a man with that number to tell the Kommandant. Then, get the prisoners into their barracks. I want a guard at each barrack door and all other guards patrolling the compound. Anyone caught outside is sent to the cooler, no questions asked. The prisoners out of uniform are to go to the cooler. Send their officers to me."

A few minutes later, Noël and O'Neill were escorted up to Duerr, both looking very nervous. "Follow me," Duerr said in a clipped tone.

They went to the recreation hall, where they found the place completely ransacked. Floorboards were being pulled up, and now the stage was being destroyed. The two officers knew it was only a matter of time before the tunnel was found. They watched as a pile of clothes was made of all the civilian outfits and German uniforms that had been created. There was a box where all the fake documents were being held. One guard picked up a camera, and handed it to Duerr. Duerr studied it, and then handed it back to the guard.

"Keep it in the box with the fake IDs," he said. He looked at Noël and O'Neill. "The tunnel will be found soon, so if there is anything else you want to tell me, please go ahead."

The two officers looked at one another in confusion. "You are about to find everything," replied O'Neill.

"A tunnel does not explain why two men are dead," said Duerr.

"Dead," echoed Noël. "I do not know what you mean."

"Your _Commandant _and another Frenchman were found dead," said Duerr. "Why?"

The two officers were shocked. "We…we don't know anything about that," said O'Neill. "How were they killed?"

"Géraud was shot, and found outside the wire," answered Duerr. "The other man had been stabbed, but was found by the barracks. You know nothing of this?"

"No," said O'Neill. "You mean they were murdered?"

"It is starting to look like that," said Duerr.

There was a shout as the guards indicated that they had found the tunnel. Duerr told a guard to go fetch the Kommandant. Then, leaving the two officers with another guard, Duerr went to go inspect the tunnel. He could not deny that he was impressed with the tunnel. It was a good size, comfortable enough to crawl in without hitting your head on the top. It was well lit with the electricity too. Also under the stage, the work spaces for those who had created the papers and clothes were found. There were a few baskets of needles and threads of all colors. There were many papers and pens, as well as a few stashes of stolen money. There was also another camera. Lastly a radio was found, and when they turned it on, the BBC came on, talking about the memorable times of the past year. Duerr flicked it off contemptuously.

"Bring it all up," he ordered. "Tidy the place up some, too."

As the Kommandant came in, he saw Duerr climbing out from under the stage. He shook his head. "They've been working under our noses the whole time, sir."

"What more could we have expected," asked the Kommandant. "Update me."

Duerr told him everything that had been found, what he had done with the prisoners, and that the two junior officers were oblivious to the murders.

"They're telling the truth, sir," said Duerr. "They really don't know a thing."

"Okay," said the Kommandant. "I'm going to go make another phone call. I want you to get me a list of the men missing. With that list and the two officers, come back to my office. We're going to get to the bottom of this."

Nearing midnight, they were still in the Kommandant's office, getting facts straight. Jöchmann and his aide were there as well. O'Neill and Noël, since everything had been uncovered, were being more cooperative in trying to find out who was behind the murder. They had come to uneasy conclusions so far.

"So," said Duerr, trying to get his thoughts in order. "We've questioned everyone in the cooler, and no one knows anything. The prisoners in the barracks don't know anything nor are there anymore tunnels in any of the barracks. We've recaptured twelve prisoners so far, scattered within a three mile radius. None of them have a weapon on them."

Everyone was quiet, except Jöchmann who was talking on the radio with different search parties in the area.

"Sir," said O'Neill. "There are several men missing that weren't supposed to escape tonight. It has to be one of them. Otherwise, why would anyone kill D'Orléans or Marcel?"

"Yes, yes," said Duerr with annoyance. "That makes sense. But that barely helps us seeing as none of them are here!"

The Kommandant stood up, tossing his cigarette aside. He went to the window and looked out. Jöchmann put down the phone then and scratched through some names.

"That makes fifteen that we have recaptured," he said. "Ten of them were in their own uniforms, three in civilian clothes, and two wearing German uniforms."

"Who were the ones in uniform," asked Duerr.

"A Private Torben Arcenau and Sergeant Jonathan Cullen," answered Jöchmann. "Still no sign of the British officer."

The Kommandant turned around and held out his hand. "The list please." Jöchmann handed it to him and he studied it. He looked at O'Neill and Noël. "When were Corporals Newkirk and LeBeau supposed to escape?"

"Why would we tell you," asked Noël.

"Because I will bet everything that they know who the murderer is," replied the Kommandant. "Their friend was D'Orléans, and he would have escaped with them. Private Fairnth, the British boy that is always around them, he escaped as well. So, when did they escape?"

"Sometime between seven o'clock and eight o'clock," answered O'Neill smugly. "Something like that."

Duerr slammed his hand down on the desk. "Do you want to find this murderer or not?"

"I'd rather see most of these men get away," answered O'Neill swiftly. "If one murderer gets away, than at least he's not here anymore. And if Peter, Louis, and Luke really do know who the murderer is, they'll tell someone eventually. If they make it to England, they'll convict him there. If they get recaptured, then they'll tell us back here. But for now, I hope the just bloody escape and never come back to this hole!"

Both O'Neill and Noël looked at their captors defiantly.

"Fine," said the Kommandant. "Since you are no longer any help, you will be escorted the cooler." Berg called two guards in, and they took the two officers away.

"Now what," asked Duerr impatiently.

"We wait," said Jöchmann. "The prisoners are all near by. They didn't get nearly the amount of time they thought they were going to get to clear out of the area. They should all be recaptured within the next twelve hours."

The Kommandant shook his head. "They had everything. I cannot believe we were lucky enough to discover this before it really went out. Thirty-nine prisoners in an hour."

"Yes," growled Jöchmann. "You were lucky."

Duerr glared at him. "Are insinuating something?"

"I wouldn't get to homey around here," replied Jöchmann.

"We've been here over two years," stated Duerr. "We've already gotten homey."

"What, no family to go to," asked Jöchmann.

"Don't start with that," ordered the Kommandant. "This is not time or place to push us around. We have a job to do: recover all those prisoners."

"Right," said Jöchmann disinterestedly. He leaned back in his chair, and played with the dial on the radio that the prisoners had made. It switched on and a British voice came over the waves:

_"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…HAPPY NEW YEAR! God bless you all! God bless 1942!"_

()()()()()()

January 4, 1942

Thirty-three prisoners stood at attention in the compound in front of the administrative offices. The Kommandant stood on the steps beside Jöchmann while Duerr walked in front of the prisoners, surveying them all. For about five minutes, he left them wondering what their punishment was. Then, he looked at Berg.

"Put them in the cooler," he said. "Separate from those left behind."

Berg nodded and did as he was told. Just then, a truck rolled into camp. Jöchmann walked down the steps and came to stand beside Duerr.

"This must be our train riders," he said.

Duerr just watched as three men in civilian clothes were yanked out of the truck in shackles. They were escorted to stand before Duerr and Jöchmann.

"Well done," Jöchmann told them. "That was the furthest you made it yet. Tell me, how do you feel?"

They just glared at him.

"In my office," said Duerr. "We have some things to discuss."

They were marched into the office. It was crowded. The prisoners stood in front of the desk. Off to their right, Jöchmann and his aide stood by the window. Berg stood off to the left by the door. Duerr and the Kommandant went around to the opposite side of the desk.

"We already know everything about the tunnel, the fake documents, civilian outfits, uniforms, cameras, radios, ect," said the Kommandant. "So you do not have to worry about keeping any of that covered up. Right now, we are focused on punishing you all and gathering information about your escape. But we already know that you boarded a train on January 2nd and got off on January 3rd, fifty miles from here. So, you do not have to bother covering that up either. What we need from you now is information about the two murders that were committed the night you escaped. And do not bother pretending to be ignorant, because we already know that you know _something_ about that as well."

At first, Peter, Louis, and Luke just stared at him with disbelief; disbelief in hearing him utter so many words and disbelief that they already knew so much.

"It was Lawrence," said Peter, sounding tired. "Lawrence killed Marcel. But you said two murders. Who was the other?"

"Géraud," answered Duerr in a soft voice. "He was shot outside the wire."

Louis cursed and rubbed his forehead with his hands in distress. _"Ce cochon." _(7)

"So now what," asked Peter.

"You go to the cooler until we know what to do with you," answered Jöchmann. They looked at him worriedly. They were too tired to hide any emotions now. He smiled when he saw that. "Do not worry," he said. "It should not take us long."

Berg tugged on their chains to make them leave the office. But Peter remained where he was for a moment longer as he looked at Duerr. Duerr looked at him questioningly.

"You told me that one day I would learn that there are men who were are going to save their lives before anyone else's," said Peter. He shrugged tiredly. "I guess I've seen that now. Lawrence fooled us all." He turned around and left.

"He fooled me as well," murmured Duerr.

()()()()()()

January 6, 1942

Two staff cars pulled into the camp and parked outside the administrative buildings. From one car, Jöchmann and his aide got out. From the other a Wehrmacht general and his aide got out. They entered the office.

After discussing everything that had happened on the night of December 31st, the officers came to their conclusions. Thirty-nine prisoners escaped through a tunnel from the recreation hall using the show as a disguise. Three men were declared to have successful escapes: Captain Lawrence, and two French privates. Captain James Lawrence was also deemed the murderer of _Caporal-chef _Marcel D'Orléans and _Commandant _Géraud Beauvais.

"Now," said General Weiss, the Wehrmacht general. "We need to discuss the future of this camp." Everyone—including Jöchmann—looked up at him in surprise. He did not acknowledge the surprise at all, but went on. "I know that neither of you want to return to a combat position." He looked at the Kommandant and Major Duerr. "That is understandable. But after this…fiasco with your prisoner escape…you must both be put somewhere else." He paused and looked over some papers. "Major Lance Duerr, you will have a field command in Africa. Tomorrow, you will go to the airport to be flown to Berlin, and from there, you will receive further orders. Here are your papers." He handed Duerr some documents. Duerr took them gravely. "As for you Colonel—" the general looked up at the Kommandant.

"I am not being sent to Africa either," asked the Kommandant.

"_Nein_," answered Weiss. "You have served more than enough in combat, Colonel. And I am sure your brother will do quite fine without you." The Kommandant and Duerr looked at one another in alarm. Jöchmann smiled wickedly and leaned forward with anticipation. But Weiss went on as if he had said nothing important. He handed the Kommandant a piece of paper. "You are being sent back to Berlin to keep records."

"Hmm," said the Kommandant, swallowing nervously. "Well, little brother, what do you think?"

"I think you'll be just fine with that," answered Major Duerr. He looked at the General cautiously. "So, we are not being punished for hiding identities?"

"_Nein_," answered Weiss. "It is not the first time it has happened, and I think the fiasco here was enough punishment. Besides, most of the prisoners were recovered. You also both have commendable combat records. I would rather have you in positions where you could better help us."

"Sir," said Jöchmann, obviously shocked. "They were committing fraud."

"Not exactly," said Weiss. "They simply changed names on records, and picked a very remote place to keep themselves out of the way. But they did not steal anything. And they went through a legal process to change the Colonel's name anyway."

Jöchmann was furious. "So, if they're going away, who is going to take over the camp?"

"Not you," replied Weiss shortly. "Though, you will still be in command of security in the area. Two other Wehrmacht officers are being taken from Berlin to take the camp. Now, the prisoners who were directly involved in the escape are being transferred out. All I know is that they are being sent to a Dulag back in Germany. From there, they will be sent to some other camp."

"What do you mean directly involved," asked Major Duerr.

"Those who escaped, those who were found in the tunnel area, those dressed to escape, and anyone else who had evidence against them specifically," answered Weiss. "How many men is that?"

"That's about sixty," replied Major Duerr.

Weiss nodded. "Well, you won't have to worry about that, though. You won't be here for their transfer." He gathered all his papers together and handed them to his aide. Then he stood up, as did the other officers. They all saluted which he returned.

Outside, he turned back to them. "Good luck in your new positions," he said to the Duerr brothers. "I wouldn't screw up there, because this incident has brought a lot of attention to you. Another incident and you might end up in a bad position."

"Yes, sir," replied the brothers in unison.

With that, the general got in his car, and they drove off.

Major Duerr looked at Jöchmann. "Well," he said. "It looks like you won't be getting this camp after all."

"Well," said Jöchmann smugly. "We'll see how much it takes for the new Kommandant to roll over." But without anything to boast about, Jöchmann left, leaving the Wehrmacht officers alone.

"It was only sooner or later that they found out," the Kommandant said in a quiet voice.

Major Duerr chuckled. "Right. It was a fun run while it lasted, brother." He turned around when something caught his eye. It was Berg, standing on the steps, looking down at them curiously. Major Duerr smiled at him. "You can go tell the prisoners now. I am sure when Corporal Blackwell is released from the cooler he will be all over you asking questions anyhow."

Berg gave an awkward smile. "Begging both of your pardons, but I already knew."

"See," said the Kommandant teasingly. "I told you he was smart enough to figure it out."

Major Duerr shrugged. "Fine. I think I will go get packing. It's been awhile since I packed for combat duty." He walked over to his quarters, and went inside.

Berg approached the Kommandant. "So, is it Colonel Duerr, now?"

"I suppose so," answered the Kommandant. "Is there something you need Sergeant?"

"I wanted to ask you a question," answered Berg. "But if it is too personal, you do not have to answer."

"Go on," replied the Kommandant.

"What happened to you and the Major when you were fighting," he asked.

The Kommandant took a deep breath. "We were a part of taking Poland, and we were not happy with how it was done. The scorched earth policy was not what we expected. I was in the Great War, and it was different then. Even though I was a young, very junior officer, I knew that officers were always gentlemen, and you treated the enemy officers the same way. I taught my younger brother that. He fought in the Great War as well. He was in the very end of it, as a boy. He fought as a lowly foot soldier. Still, he knew what it meant to be an officer. Anyway, it was tough life for us afterwards. We had no other family, so we took to the military and made it our career. Well, we were stationed together to take Poland, and after that, we decided that we did not want to fight anymore. So, we applied for taking care of a prison. Around that time, they started splitting up relatives in the military, no matter where they were stationed. To avoid being split up, I changed my name. Then, with some weaseling of documents, we made it so that we would both be stationed here. And, it worked out perfectly."

"It did," agreed Berg. "Except that you got very clever prisoners."

"All men are clever in their own way when they are desperate," replied the Kommandant. "There will be many unbelievable things done by prisoners to escape. This camp is no different."

"Well, it will be different without you and the Major," said Berg. "You are both very stern and strict, but fair and humane. That—I believe—is what prisoners need. Stern and strict so that they do not escape, but fair and humane so that they do not get themselves killed."

"And yet," said the Kommandant. "Things we do not understand will happen." He sighed. "I will go pack as well. I want you to tell your men what is going to happen. You may also tell them my true identity. They are good men, and deserve to know the truth." He turned and went back inside.

()()()()()()

That afternoon, Major Duerr paid a visit to the cooler. He inquired the whereabouts of two prisoners, and the guard led him to one of the cells at the end. He unlocked it, and allowed the Major inside. Six prisoners stared up at him. The coolers were filled, so solitary confinement was out of the question. The prisoners inside were Peter, Louis, Luke, Dean, Everley and Torben. They all looked worried while trying to appear defiant. Duerr didn't blame them. Except for when the guard brought them some measly rations, they hadn't seen another soul since being brought to the cooler.

Duerr half-smiled at them. "You have been fascinating prisoners," he said, his eyes looking over them all and finally landing on Peter and Louis.

"Are you sayin' good-bye," asked Peter.

"Yes," answered Duerr.

"Oh, no," moaned Everley.

Duerr chuckled. "You needn't worried. You aren't going to be executed or anything. I've been transferred and I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Transferred," echoed Louis. "Where too?"

"Africa," answered Duerr.

Peter smiled. "I 'ope ole Monty gives you a warm welcome."

Duerr glowered at him for a moment before just shaking his head with amusement. "Anyway, I guess I am saying good-bye, because this is one of the more interesting posts I've held in the military. Never before have I seen such an assortment of men who pour so much of themselves into a common goal."

"It is why you will lose," said Luke quietly.

Duerr looked at him for a long moment. "If we lose, I will remember this." He went back to the cell door.

"Sir," asked Peter.

Duerr looked a back at him. "Yes?"

"Did you capture Lawrence?"

Duerr shook his head, and added, "I am sorry. I would have wanted justice too." He quickly left.

* * *

Translations:

(1) Who did this to you?

(2) You have to leave quickly.

(3) We know. But who did this to you?

(4) The Captain? Captain who?

(5) pig!

(6) I guess it's good that I can speak German.

(7) That pig.


	39. New Destination

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: A N****ew**** D****estination**

January 7, 1942

Few actually saw Colonel and Major Duerr leave that morning. A few prisoners who had woken up early peered out their windows and watched the staff car roll out, but other than that, it was just the guards on duty and the replacement officers who had already arrived that witnessed it. At roll call, the prisoners who weren't in the cooler filed out in formation. Outside, they found their two new officers and Jöchmann off to the side, watching the proceedings. When Berg announced that those supposed to be present were all present, the new Kommandant took over.

"My name is Colonel Lahm…" he started. And he went on and on about how things were going to be different around the camp, but that it was all in the prisoners' advantage to keep them safe. There were no more permanent work shifts on farms or in town because it gave prisoners access to things that they could use to escape. There was no more lunch since the prisoners weren't working and food would not be wasted on them. And also since they weren't working, there was an extra hour of recreation. The rest of the day, it's inside the barracks. During the two hours of recreation, the prisoners could do everything except gather in groups more than six, play football, rugby, volleyball, or some other game they might come up with. There was no talking through the fence anymore. Lastly, even if it was winter, the new Kommandant would not spare firewood on the prisoners either.

The prisoners scowled when they heard all of this because it had Jöchmann's signature all over it. Afterwards, the officers asked to make a formal complaint. But Berg returned from the office saying that the Kommandant was not seeing anyone. Jöchmann was still inside the camp, and he didn't leave until the afternoon.

The month of January was slow and tiresome. At first, the men were still getting over everything that had taken place. No one had even remotely thought that one of their officers would murder another officer and another man. It was something that was difficult to come to terms with, especially since they had trusted said officer so much. They had trusted him, and then he had betrayed them in the most brutal way. Never again would they give their trust away easily. What bothered others was that they hadn't given their trust away _that_ easily. They had actually waited until Lawrence had proved himself to them. And he had. He had taken care of them like a decent, honest officer was supposed to. No one would have ever imagined that he would end up murdering prisoners. It was a scary, uneasy thought that made many harden their shells further.

After most of the camp got through that predicament, the prisoners turned towards trying to find means of escape again. Everyone knew the infirmary tunnel still existed. But so far, no one was in the infirmary, and no one had been able to get in even when they played sick. Colonel Lahm was stricter than they had thought. Berg argued their case sometimes, when he truly believed that someone was sick. But the Kommandant would not budge.

Then, the worst happened. A British infantryman really did get sick with a bad cold. And without much warmth in the barracks, he died a few nights later. Colonel Lahm let a few men bury him, but he hardly seemed bothered by it. Berg was disturbed. He did not want this. He wanted a more humane Kommandant that would at least try and keep the prisoners alive. That got Berg to start thinking of how he could help them in other ways.

So, January passed slowly. The sixty-five prisoners that were crammed in the cooler still had no idea when they were being transferred. Actually, no one did. About mid-January, a train had been sent for them, but got stuck in a snowstorm. It never came back. Word finally came that the prisoners would be transferred at the end of February, after the worst of winter passed. Since a date was set, the sixty-five prisoners were released from the cooler to spend their last days in the camp with a tad more freedom.

They were all in bad condition. They had only been getting food once a day, and hadn't seen the sunlight in a little over a month. They were dirty and unshaven, and even after showers and haircuts, were still bad off. It took several days of sleeping in bunks by themselves and sitting out in the sun for them to look somewhat normal. They were still thin, but then again, all the prisoners were losing weight those days.

The only thing interesting that really took place was the distribution of Lawrence's belongings that he had left behind. Peter snatched the officer's battledress jacket and made it his own. His own jacket was worn down from numerous work days. Lawrence's was in a good deal better shape than his. Peter ripped off all the insignias that implied the jacket belonged to an officer and stitched in his own corporal's stripes. The only thing he left that stood out were the lapels, which Peter kind of enjoyed having.

()()()()()()

February 20, 1942

"Let's just cut the wire again," whispered Everley in the barracks that night. "We can take another crack at it. You never know, maybe we'll make it this time. We've got to make it sooner or later." He looked keenly at his friends.

"I'm not goin' without Louie," stated Peter firmly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "He would want you to go, Peter. C'mon, just take this chance."

"No," answered Peter quickly. "I made 'im a promise and now isn't when I'm goin' to break it." He lit a cigarette.

"Listen," said Dean. "Wouldn't you want to see Louis find freedom? Wouldn't you be happy if he escaped?"

That struck a nerve in Peter and everyone knew it. "Yes," he muttered. "But we're not talkin' about 'im. This is me. An' I'm tellin' you right now that I'm not goin' anywhere unless I can get Louie out with me." Peter looked at Luke. "You can go, mate. I'd gladly assist you."

Luke smiled. "If you don't go, then I'm not going either."

"You chaps are ridiculous," said Everley grouchily.

"Well," said Dean. "We don't even have anything to cut through the wire with, anyway."

"Actually," said Peter. "This might do the trick." He pulled out his pencil sharpener.

"You still have it," exclaimed Luke.

"I 'id it in 'ere," replied Peter. "When we escaped so that someone else could use later on."

"But not even Jerry found it," said Dean. "How would someone else have found it if they couldn't?"

Peter shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I 'ad a little faith in people there for awhile."

They sat in comfortable silence for awhile.

"I wonder wot our new camp is goin' to be like," said Everley.

"Same as all the rest, probably," murmured Peter after taking a drag of the cigarette.

"Maybe we'll escape from there," said Dean. "Maybe we'll get another Kommandant who is humane enough to give us our way every now and then."

"Maybe we'll have a disciplinarian that will turn his eye away every now and then," said Luke.

"Maybe the guards won't be so testy," wished Everley.

"Maybe we won't get another officer," said Peter. "We can do things ourselves for a change.

"Maybe one of you will never see the place."

The four prisoners looked up quickly. There was someone in the door.

"_Schnell_. Come outside," the someone whispered.

"Bergie," asked Everley.

_"Schnell!"_ Berg's voice was in a low, frantic whispered.

The four got up and silently crept outside. Berg looked at them seriously. "All I have to say is that there is room for one of you on a truck waiting on the west side of the town. If you can get to it by three o'clock this morning, it can take you to the coast."

The men stared at him.

"How do we know we can trust you," asked Dean.

"You do not know, but I would take the chance," answered Berg. Then he left.

Dean and Everley went back inside slowly. Peter stood on the barracks steps, watching Berg walk past other barracks, making sure everyone no one was making unnecessary noise. Suddenly, Peter knew what he had to do. He grabbed Luke's arm, and pulled the younger man with him.

"Berg," Peter hissed.

The guard turned around. He spotted Peter and Luke in the shadows and quickly made his way to them. When he was there, Peter turned around and punched Luke has hard as he could right in the nose. Luke stumbled back, but Peter steadied him. Luke had his hands over his nose and some blood was visible. Peter looked at Berg who was looking at him in shock.

"He needs to go to the infirmary," stated Peter simply.

Luke gave Peter a bewildered look, while Berg nodded in understanding. He gently took Luke's arm. But Luke tore away and grabbed Peter's shoulders.

"What are you doing," he whispered viciously.

"Gettin' you out o' 'ere while you still can," answered Peter. "Now go before it's too late. It's already eleven o'clock."

"But what about you and Louis and the others," asked Luke. "I can't leave you."

"Yes you can," answered Peter. "Now go."

"You wouldn't leave us," argued Luke. "So why do I have to go?"

"Just go," said Peter. "Good-bye." He turned around and ran back to the barracks.

Luke looked up at Berg, and Berg led him off. When they arrived at the infirmary Berg shoved him inside, and let the medic took over.

"What happened," asked Wilkerson.

"Peter punched me," growled Luke.

"What?"

"He wants me to escape," answered Luke. "There's a way if I get to the other side of town. He wants me to take it. He wants me to leave him and the others behind."

"That's noble of you to not want to go," said Wilkerson. "But why don't you take the chance? In eight days you'll be on a train bound for another camp that God-knows-what will be like."

"I know that," snapped Luke. "And Peter knows that too. But he won't go!"

"Listen," said Wilkerson. "He got you here. And I don't know the plan, but whatever is, I don't think someone else is going to get a crack at it. So, instead of wasting the chance, you need to get out of here. I'll clean your nose up, and then you need to be gone."

Luke glared at him.

Wilkerson went on. "If you escaped it would show Jerry that we aren't done in like they think. If you got out and made it, everyone would have lighter hearts because we would know that it's always possible to get out. We will always have a chance at freedom."

"Why don't you ever escape," asked Luke. "The tunnel is right there."

"I couldn't leave these men without a medic," replied Wilkerson simply. "Now, don't change the subject. I can order you to go if you would rather that."

Luke sighed at last. "I can't believe Peter bloody did that."

()()()()()()

February 24, 1942

Peter sat on the steps of the barracks smoking his last cigarette while reading the latest letter from home. Mavis was worried about him, and she had a good reason. He had not written in her in two months, though he kept receiving letters from her. There was no mail exchange for those being transferred. Colonel Lahm told them they would just have to wait until they arrived at their new destination. Peter knew that could be forever, but he really didn't have any choice. Mavis would just have to worry until he could write home again.

Peter was at some peace. Luke's escaped was labeled successful which had boosted the prisoners' morale as Wilkerson had predicted. Colonel Lahm was at a loss to figure out how the man had escaped. No one knew anything about Luke going to the cooler except Peter, Dean, Everley and Berg. Berg was being uncharacteristically harsh lately, but they all knew it was a mask. Peter, Everley, and Dean had kept what Berg did to themselves so that they would not compromise his life. They never said a thing to him about it, and the only thanks they gave was that one day they each pitched in their last chocolate bars and Everley slipped them into the guard's pocket one evening.

On February 27th, Colonel Lahm allowed the prisoners to converse through the fence. Peter told Louis about what had happened. The Frenchman was ecstatic with glee that Luke had successfully escaped. The French had not been told who had escaped; just that it had been a British prisoner had escaped. Louis could tell that Peter missed his young friend, but knew that Peter had done only because he feared the future. All those being transferred were worried about their fate.

So, on the morning of February 28th, when those being transferred were separated from those remaining, there was thick tension n the air. They had gathered the few belongings they had; some had nothing with them. Peter had gathered his letters and one picture of Mavis and put them in his breast pockets. Besides that, he had his watch, wallet, a chocolate bar, and his pencil sharpener. Louis had a mite more because Arcenau had managed to hang onto some cash and divided it with Louis. It wasn't much, but it was something more. Perhaps they could use it to buy things from guards in the future.

Jöchmann and his SS were the ones marching the men to the train station. That made it even worse. He had—as usual—the French on one side of the road and the British on the other—and the guards were all around them. There was no way anyone could slip off without a guard noticing. They arrived at the train station, and it was like déjà vu all over again. Cattle cars awaited them, and the only comfort the men took was that they weren't being packed in like sardines, and that the SS didn't care if they integrated themselves. So, Peter and Louis climbed into a car together. They took the liberty of stretching out their legs this time. But when the cattle door was slammed shut and the click of the lock was still resounding in their ears as the train pulled away from Bielski, it was hard to think of anything optimistic.

Once more, they were moving off into the unknown. No one had told them about where they were going or even how long it would take to get there. They could only pray that it was in some way kinder that before.

"But," said Louis, as they talked. "You cannot deny that we were lucky at Stalag XXXA."

Peter looked at him sourly. "Really?"

"_Oui_," replied Louis. "We could 'ave 'ad a terrible Kommandant the entire two years we were there. The camp could 'ave been turned over to Jöchmann and we would 'ave been murdered. Luke might not 'ave gotten away, and 'e would still be 'ere with us."

"Well," muttered Peter. "We could've been luckier. We could still 'ave some friends with us...like Stephen an' Marcel."

Louis nodded. "_Je sais_. I want that as well. But you cannot deny that we probably 'ad it a little better than other camps. I am sure that Major Duerr and the Kommandant were not typical German officers in charge of POW camps."

Peter just shrugged. "We still could've been luckier."

Louis shook his head. "You can never even _try_ to look at the bright side of things?"

Peter shrugged. "I'm tired o' gettin' me 'opes up." He sighed. 'I got me 'opes up for Lawrence an' look wot 'e did."

"We were all fooled by Lawrence," said Louis.

"I just…" said Peter. "I just don't understand why the fates let 'im…_him_ o' all people to successfully escape! 'E's the murderer an' the man that least deserves it. Wot kind o' rotten irony allowed 'im to escape an' not you an' me?" He took a breath. "Bloody 'ell! I wish I could get me 'ands on 'is scrawny neck."

"I do too," said Louis. "But you cannot let it get to you. We 'ave to concentrate on surviving whatever lies in the future."

Peter smiled after a moment. "It always comes down to this, don't it? You tryin' to get me to stay the course, think for the broader picture, don't turn me back on the fight now…is it always goin' to be this way?"

Louis smirked. "Someone 'as to."

Peter looked outside through the slits of the boards. The sun was setting in the distance as February came to a close.

"That's a nice sight," he said.

Louis looked through the slits and nodded. "Another day closer to the end of the war."

Peter leaned against the wall more comfortably and closed his eyes.

"Night Louie."

_"Bon nuit, Pierre."_

And the prisoners went to sleep, wondering where they were off to now.

**T****he**** E****nd****…****for now.**


	40. Epilogue

**E****pilogue**

October 5, 1942

The new prisoner wandered around the prison awkwardly. Low clouds hovered, threatening to rain. He thought it might always be like that here. He stopped by the barracks when a veteran prisoner approached him.

"So," said the veteran prisoner. "You are new, eh?"

"Yes," answered the new prisoner. "I only got here yesterday evening."

"Where were you captured," asked the veteran.

"Africa," answered the new man.

"Ah, yes," replied the veteran. "That is where a lot of men are coming from lately."

"How is it here," asked the new man.

"Okay, I guess," answered the veteran. "We get good rations, recreation time, but we are still prisoners. The guards rarely touch us unless we're a real troublemaker, but we _are_ officers. Usually, the guards just ignore us."

"Any work details," asked the new man.

"Every now and then," answered the veteran. "Out in the country, we help farmers or repair roads. But these English are proud. They don't like help from us."

"I've seen it before," said the new man.

"Well," said the veteran. "I nearly forgot my manners." He held out his hand. "Major Hans Pietzer, Wehrmacht."

The new man shook the veteran's hand. "I am Major Lance Duerr, Wehrmacht."

The young guard nearby looked up, his suspicion confirmed. He had heard the voice, but hadn't quite believed it at first. The guard walked around the corner, and the old prisoner looked up. The new man followed his gaze and froze when he saw the guard.

"Hello," said the guard. "It's been awhile."

"Yes, it has private," replied the new man.

"Corporal, now, actually," replied the guard, gesturing to the stripes on his uniform.

"Well," said the new man with amusement. "I am sorry for the mistake Corporal Fairnth."

Luke smiled. "No worries, Major. Good day." He walked off to finish his rounds.


	41. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

Okay, that probably didn't seem like enough closure for many of you. I know, you want to see them arrive at Stalag 13. Well, don't worry we're getting there. My idea was to set up each character's story like this so that they all arrive at Stalag 13 at the same time, and then get together. This will probably take a while to get done, but it's a project I'm determined to accomplish. The whole series is called _In the Beginning_.

The point of this story was basically to show the impact of the war on the men fighting in it early on. They had less I think to hope for since the war was either in a stalemate or the Germans were still taking ground. That is why I opened up with Dunkirk. For Newkirk and LeBeau, I always thought that they just knew more about camp life. They always seemed older in their own ways. LeBeau's eagerness to help meant to me he just wanted to get back in the fight. And Newkirk's distrust and lack of faith in everything at first meant to me that he was always a little wary before doing something because of past demons. Also in the story, I tried to show things that come on later on in the show. Newkirk and LeBeau take to helping towards the escape. They use their skills just like they do in Stalag 13. And the officers take to recognizing their usefulness as well, which Hogan does. Through this, they are also trusted by the other prisoners.

To me, one of the most impacting chapters relating to what their job would be at Stalag 13, was when Newkirk and LeBeau are asked to escape and then come back with information. I always wondered how at Stalag 13 the prisoners could really cope with knowing they had a way out. I had Newkirk and LeBeau wrestle with this in their minds on the mission, which to me was important for the future. I think in Stalag 13, they would be able to cope with this better when they determine that they won't escape unless the other does. If they always had someone to at least come back to, it would be easier to cope with. That was where their loyalty for one another was really shown.

Thanks for all the support my readers have given me throughout the entire story. I enjoyed the reviews I got, and hearing all the feedback. I did try to be as historically accurate as possible. Just as a reminder: Bielski, Stalag XXXA, and the nearby SS concentration camp were all fictional. I do not want to offend anyone. However, the conditions of all the camps I tried to make as realistic as possible. Before I had any of the prisoners do anything, I did research on the probability of such a thing occurring. All of the prisoners' escapades really happened somewhere in some camp. If you read enough archives, you'll get more stories.

Anyway, thanks for all the support again. Now, I'm going to take a break. Eventually I'll be back with part two of the _In the Beginning s_eries, which is going to be about Kinch. I hope all of you enjoyed the story as well!

Simone Lyon


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